How To Kill Your Boyfriend In One Hard Lesson
by The Cat's Whiskers
Summary: Follows on from Brother, Unfortunately Mine latest in The Blood Will Tell series. Dawn needs a Champion...fortunately she's got one to hand
1. Chapter 1

**_Disclaimer_**_: Don't own, etc., etc. Joss Whedon rules supreme and retains pretty much everything. Only written for personal enjoyment and because this plot bunny just wouldn't die, even after some serious staking…_

**_Summary:_**_ Occurs after __**Brother, Unfortunately Mine**. Rating 18 for sexual references. The sibling theme is not entirely played out … _

**HOW TO KILL YOUR (PSYCHO) BOYFRIEND IN ONE HARD LESSON**

**Chapter 1 – Sugar Rush**

"Unclench, people! It's a beautiful day out there! Look…I bought doughnuts!"

Gunn and Lorne looked at Spike as he opened the box to display the iced confectionary and waved it enticingly.

"Does Wolfram & Hart run a staff drug testing program?" Gunn asked Lorne pointedly.

"What, can't a bloke just be happy?"

"You?" Gunn challenged, "…And why is this box half empty?"

"Mmmrph-ummph-glub!"

They looked over to see Fred standing at the doorway of the Science department's outer office, cheeks bulging, with the savaged remnants of a caramel-iced custard doughnut in her hands. "Ah," Gunn nodded sagely.

Fred finished devouring the sugar-laden goodie. She was _ravenous_…speaking of which…go Illyria, Poster Demon for _insatiable_. Fred had only been able to float around in the ancient demon's central cortex, squeaking in horrified delight as the wonderful, wanton night progressed…not in her wildest dreams had Fred imagined being able to drive Wesley so wild and desperate, until every hot, tender millimetre of his delicious flesh was slick with sweat and he was hoarse from pleading…_down girl! Think ice, think lots and lots of ice…_

"So why the happy?" Gunn snagged the last cream-filled with a couple of fingers as Spike disposed of the box in a trashcan, returning his attention to the blond vampire.

"He's squatting in my hotel." Angel, leaning against the doorpost of his office, watched the scene, a distinctly unamused expression on his face.

"You moved out of Wes's?" Lorne asked, casting a quick look at where Fred had coughed over a bit of doughnut and gone bright red; the munchkin was wolfing down the sugary treats like she hadn't eaten for a week – she'd be bouncing off the walls by lunchtime at this rate.

"Gotta go." Fred withdrew hastily inside her lab like a tortoise into its shell, her cheeks flaming. _Oh god, Spike_! She had given no thought to the fact that Wesley had a roommate…or rather, Illyria hadn't. Fred broke into a sweat of relief – Spike must have only been gone an hour or so before Illyria decided to…Fred shuddered; Spike would have had a ringside seat for Illyria's little hardcore porn show. Illyria didn't get subtlety, or discretion, or '_not for public consumption'_. It would have carried on regardless!

"What do you think?" Spike countered to the green demon. "'Son of Giles' apartment couch versus five-floor hotel, with swimming pool. Did I mention the sauna, and the Turkish bath, and the spa pools? Just going begging."

"There are reasons the Hyperion is empty –" Angel put in, his tone quelling.

"Yeah, I got the Cliff Notes from Wes. Paranoia demon; madness and mayhem; spooks to the rafters; et cetera." Spike shrugged. "Besides, it's sort of mine anyway, when you think about it."

"Not seeing that somehow." Angel glared.

"Me neither. Legally speaking –" Gunn's tongue flicked out and caught a dab of cream before it could fall to the carpet.

"Exactly. I mean, Angel's my granddad, so in a way…it's like my inheritance."

"I'm _what?_" Angel shoved away from the doorpost and stood fully upright.

"Currently ten minutes late for your meeting with the Sen-Hi-Pang representative." Chimed in a new commentator.

They looked up towards the voice from above; Wesley pointed at the large lobby clock. "See?"

"Aagh," Angel groaned. "Hey," he looked up at Wesley. "Aren't you in that meeting with me, to interpret?"

"Not any more. I've got Huang on it – she's the best we've got when it comes to the mystical Kung-Sun-Die dialects." Wesley explained. "It's no big. Just smile at each other across the table and make vague, ambiguous promises that neither of you intend to keep."

Angel frowned and moved forward into the lobby as he remembered the 'few Bihari squatters' that had turned into a giant Ts'ikk nightmare. "Where are _you_ going?"

"Gru's asked me to give him the Whistle Stop Tour of LA, so he knows the hotspots to hit when he's hunting nefarious beasties."

"Is that a good idea?" Spike spoke up, shrugging when they all turned their gazes on him. "Look, I like Gru. For someone who so redefines the concept of 'fashion victim', he's a solid bloke, but isn't letting him run around LA on his own kinda like metaphorically tying him to the railroad tracks?"

"He's the Groosalug." Lorne responded.

"Yeah, and that's another thing – what kind of dumb ass word is 'Groosalug'?"

"It's Pylean and it means the Unconquerable One." Angel told his grandson tartly.

"Aaah…hence the no big with him wondering around this town on his own."

"I'm stunned that I'm actually agreeing with Sid here," Gunn put in his cent's worth, "but Spike has a point. Gru wanting to help is admirable, but do we want him doing the demon slice-and-dice without any of us around?"

"We need him."

Again they looked up as Wesley spoke. Resting both hands on the metal rail of the upper walkway, Wesley ignored those going past as he looked down at the four of them and went on to say, "We've only been here a few months and we are running flat out, pedal to the metal, working both ends against the middle. We're working on so many active cases at once that this makes Angel Investigations look like we were in a coma, never mind just standing still. Gru roaming the mean streets of LA like a real-life Conan the barbarian…although with better hair…he can winnow out the chaff from the wheat, deal with the small problems so we can concentrate on the more important stuff. Better, he'll stop a lot of molehills becoming mountains because we're stretched so tight we don't have time to deal."

"Gru will keep down the rats while we deal with the Bigger Bads, got it." Gunn nodded, "When you put it like that…"

Wesley smiled. "I for one would like to be able to leave the office before midnight once in a while." _Like every night, so Fred can… _"Ahem…Angel, when was the last time you got to go to a hockey game on a weeknight? Gunn, had the chance to use those baseball season tickets lately? Lorne – when was the last time you got chance to drop by Caritas and terrorise your bar manager for an hour?"

"Alright," Angel conceded, aware that he was now fifteen minutes late. "Just stay frosty when you're out with Gru. He tends to leap before he looks."

_Continued in Chapter 2 …_

© 2005 C. D. Stewart


	2. Chapter 2

**_Disclaimer_**_: Don't own, etc., etc. Joss Whedon rules supreme and retains pretty much everything. Only written for personal enjoyment and because this plot bunny just wouldn't die, even after some serious staking…_

**_Summary:_**_ Occurs after __**Brother, Unfortunately Mine**. Rating 18 for sexual references. The sibling theme is not entirely played out … _

**HOW TO KILL YOUR (PSYCHO) BOYFRIEND IN ONE HARD LESSON**

**Chapter 2 – Slayer Sisters**

"You've got my cell phone number, and Giles?" Buffy fussed. "Is it charged? Oh, I made some sandwiches –"

"_Buffy!"_ Dawn cut off the flow. Plucking the cellophane wrapped food from her elder sister's hand she ignored the nearby Slayers and enveloped her big sister in a fierce hug. "Unclench. I'll kick that evil college paperwork into the middle of next week and be home by the weekend…do you think I'd miss the chance to see _Attack of the Fifty Foot Woman _when the entire Scooby Gang is going to be _in situ_. Stop channelling mom…try for Bart Simpson instead."

"Hah-hah." Buffy said, but gave over with the twittering, beaming as she still felt the warmth from Dawn's hug.

Waving Dawn off in the little roadster her sister could now operate all on her own after passing Driver's Ed…finally…Buffy gave a loud sniff and tried to get a grip.

"Come on, B." chided a voice behind her. "You survived enrolling at UC Sunnydale, I'm sure lil' sis will manage just fine."

"That's what worries me," Buffy pointed out. "College – my demon roommate, the Initiative, secret government experiments, _frat boys…_Okay, okay." Buffy shut up as Faith rolled her eyes.

Faith. Her Sister Slayer. Until Willow laid her whammy on the Scythe, she and Faith had been the only Slayers in the world, a kink caused in the endless line of solitary Chosen One following solitary Chosen One after Buffy Summers gave the rulebook the finger and became the first Slayer in history to, as Spike so aptly put it, have '_family and friends'_.

The first time she'd died, Xander had revived her in less than a minute with CPR, the second time, Willow with the whammy again. But once a Slayer died, even if she was only dead for seconds, the next Slayer was Called…Faith – torturer, murderer, sociopath - and Champion.

Nowadays Buffy could see how Faith's eyes were a little less shadowed than they had been. In the kitchen a tall handsome black man, Robin Wood the ex-Principal of Sunnydale High and one of the few to survive outlasting that position, was cooking – Faith's lover, and a large part of the reason for those lessening of shadows; another considerable factor was that Faith now had a focus for her abilities other than just being the_ other _Slayer. She was Buffy's PT Instructor, Drill Sergeant to the tenderfoots. She excelled in the role.

Buffy allowed Faith to draw her back inside the old, sprawling mansion the Scoobies had reclaimed as their own. Defeating the First Evil, losing Spike when her Champion closed the Hellmouth and losing Anya…that had been a pretty big bang in the scheme of things, but it was like the crescendo of a symphony – you couldn't sustain the peak forever, else it just became noise. This, however, this what was going on all around her redefined _long haul_.

Coming up with the brilliant notion of creating a new Slayer-user-friendly Watchers Council had been an off-the-cuff stopgap measure. It was something Buffy came up with to give the dozens of hyped up Slayers focus and purpose; something to deflect that restless light in Faith's eyes as the Dark Slayer's love for Robin Wood battled her fear of letting anyone get close to her because of how she'd been hurt in the past, and Buffy could see that Faith's patented _flight over fight_ response was on the verge of winning unless she did something drastic.

However, It had taken Buffy less than an hour, and without any hit-you-over-the-head-with-a-lightening-bolt revelation from the Powers That Be, no less, to realise that her 'stopgap measure' would be her life's work. There were vampires and demons and evil nasties in a thousand places on this planet, but there had only ever been _one_ Slayer, until now. A network of Slayers, criss-crossing the globe, fighting the good fight; they would still never be able save everyone, but their success rate would go through the stratosphere.

Completely changing the face of Slayerdom, however, required a lot of hard work and effort, and currently those closest to Buffy were scattered all over the place, hence the enormous anxiety-over-reaction to Dawn going to UC Sunnydale to register for the fall semester.

After initially settling in Rome whilst rounding up European Slayers, Buffy and Dawn had decided to return to Sunnydale, or rather what had been Sunnydale, and set up HQ in what little of the town – basically the old mansion, the airport and UC Sunnydale campus – remained. Eventually the others had drifted back too, though they often went abroad on research or Slayer-gathering trips since the "one slayer dies the next is called" rule held true; when one of the ex-Potential Slayers who'd survived that fateful battle against the First, Anis Willoughby, had been killed in a car crash en route back to Sunnydale, her hitherto mortal cousin, Andrea Findus, who had been visiting, had become a Slayer right in front of Kennedy and Rona's startled eyes.

Giles had taken Andrew Wells to England since the last surviving member of the Troika had decided to train as a Watcher, though Buffy suspected a not-entirely healthy attachment to tweed on the youth's part. Despite his supreme nerdiness, Andrew had a part to play. He was atoning for murdering his best friend, Jonathan Levinson, and opening the Hellmouth in the first place.

Also like Giles said, any new Watchers they could get, they had to take. The loss of the Watchers in Caleb's explosion aside, many of the Watchers came from ancient lineages of the same, and as such could be expected to adhere to the small remnant of the conservative, hidebound old Watchers Council that buzzed around the edges of the Scoobies like a fly you couldn't quite swat. Several of the family members and friends of the new Slayers had evinced an interest in such a role as well, and Dawn herself was considering the Watcher thing – she had the brains for the role, certainly, Buffy knew with pride.

Beyond that however, Dawn had told her sister, _"'Look, I know you'd love me to be a teacher or something with a degree and job security and normality. But I can't do that – I'm not normal. I was an all-powerful energy being for billions of years. I can't do something like spend my life teaching a bunch of sixth graders a history of the world I know to be a crock when you guys are fighting the good fight and saving the world on weekends, even though I'd probably be safer. I'm part of the Scooby Gang, and even though I'm not a Slayer or anything, I have to be involved. Being a Watcher is a way I can contribute to what we do and still earn enough cash to support my deadbeat sister.'" _

Willow was presently in South America on a higher plane of existence seeking more Intel from the PTBs if she could get it, her Slayer lover Kennedy waiting anxiously in the monastery for her return. After her "shadow puppet show" confrontation with the Shadow Men, before the Scoobies ultimate battle with the First Evil, Buffy had been left with the nagging feeling that she had missed something important in the subtext, easy enough to do considering how enraged she had been at the time with those self-important _men_ who had callously chained a girl to the earth and, for want of a better term, committed an act of "mystical rape" by forcibly infusing demonic energy into her.

Quietly working away in the background as ever, it had been Xander who obligingly dropped what he was doing and hot-footed it to Africa following up a Shadow Men reference to those shamans who had infused the First Slayer with her power and created their line. Xander had met none other than Oz unexpectedly in Nairobi, and being forced to explain the loss of his eye, the pair had teamed up to go further into the Dark Continent.

Right now, as usual these days, Buffy tried _not_ to think about Angel. When Andrew had brought back the mentally-ill Slayer Dana Parvati, he had been close-mouthed about Angel in LA, and Buffy still struggled with the notion that Angel, Wesley Wyndham-Pryce, Cordelia and the others of Angel's "team" she'd never met were now running Wolfram & Hart, the Biggest Bad on the Western Seaboard. While Andrew seemed convinced that Angel and his friends were still 'fighting the good fight', Buffy wasn't so sure, and that uncertainty frightened her. Angel; Riley; Spike. She'd loved them all in different ways, and lost them all in different ways, but Angel…something like that most people never even got once in a lifetime, never mind twice.

Buffy sighed to herself. Spike had been the only one who'd really understood, which somehow didn't amaze her as much as it seemed, from appearances, that it should. Despite that he had been her lover at the time, despite the fact that he was openly and unashamedly deeply in love with her, Spike had grasped her feelings for Angel and astonishingly had not seemed to hate it.

"'Look love, you and Angel…it's like the Star of Africa. The world's biggest diamond, that's part of the Queen's Crown Jewels back home? If you marry the woman of your dreams, the one who's got one hand around your heart and the other your soul, and then give her the Star of Africa for your first wedding anniversary, that's really great…but how do you _top_ that? Love is joy…and sorrow. When it comes to love, most people only stumble across a way into Paradise on the fourth or fifth go – _if _they're lucky. That's your problem pet, with you and Angel. You hit the jackpot first go – with Angel, you got into Paradise first time, and trouble with that is, nothing that comes after can ever _quite_ match up.'"

Buffy jumped as for a moment Spike's words were so real in her memory it was as if he were standing right there next to her, solid and…cold. _Okay, enough with the wallowing_…

© 2007 C. D. Stewart


	3. Chapter 3

**_Disclaimer_**_: Don't own, etc., etc. Joss Whedon rules supreme and retains pretty much everything. Only written for personal enjoyment and because this plot bunny just wouldn't die, even after some serious staking…_

**_Summary:_**_ Occurs after __**Brother, Unfortunately Mine**. Rating 18 for sexual references. The sibling theme is not entirely played out … _

**HOW TO KILL YOUR (PSYCHO) BOYFRIEND IN ONE HARD LESSON**

**Chapter 3 – Dawn's Early Flight**

Driving strictly within the speed limit, Dawn carefully watched the exit signs as she headed south. Her paperwork was already done, completed on a previous visit: notarised, itemized and lobotomised in triplicate, trapped in the bureaucratic black hole of the Dean's office. Dawn consciously relaxed her hands on the wheel. She had a clear five days; please godlet her be able to fix this mess by then.

Dawn remembered Buffy's happy face she hugged her goodbye, the Slayer having no notion that Dawn was making the gesture…just in case. 'Just in case' was Standard Operating Procedure in the Buffyverse. Her first thought had been to go to Buffy but…Dawn, on the sidelines, had a panoramic view of the workload, observing the stress-fest unnoticed in the same way that she realised Xander, the only Scooby Gang member with no 'special' powers, was accustomed to doing because as he'd told her, "'_I see more than anyone realises, because nobody's watching me_.'"

Dawn had seen. Buffy worked 24/7, and had lost inches she could ill afford to. Giles was getting greyer by the hour, even Willow's bright eyes dimmed when she thought nobody was looking, and Xander…well he was like the Energizer Bunny, but when he thought nobody was around, his face would relax and the lines that hadn't been there around his mouth before would come back. Faith; Robin; Kennedy; Andrew…all the survivors of the First Evil's attempt to open the Hellmouth were working flat out.

Dawn knew that Buffy – that they all – loved what they were trying to do with the new Slayers and the Watchers Council, but it was also clear that they were working incredibly long and hard to make it succeed. The last thing Buffy needed was for her little sister to come whining to her yet again with more problems, especially as Dawn had only herself to blame for this mess. _My first boyfriend and the guy turned out to be a vampire – you'd have thought I'd develop at least some early warning system, but noooo. _

She glanced in her mirror. Yep, beat up old Plymouth five cars back had been on her tail since she took the Interstate from Sunnydale. _Yeah, come on, _Dawn silently taunted it, _come down to the woods after me, and boy are you gonna get a big surprise…_ She hadn't known where to turn, until…thank god for Andrew the Geek and the fact that being a teenager in modern America made adults think that you became deaf and blind to the world around you for seven years. Using his cell-phone in the vast jungle that was the mansion's garden had probably seemed like a good idea to Andrew, except for the fact that an entire army of CIA agents could have been hanging on every word, completely disguised by the Triffid-like foliage; or in this case, one desperate kid trying to come up with a plan.

Dawn hadn't meant to eavesdrop when Andrew was talking to the LA ex-Watcher, Wesley Wyndham-Pryce, but was curious as she listened, idly pondering whether Buffy having an ex-Watcher as her second-in-command and Angel having an ex-Watcher as his second-in-command was just an amazing coincidence or of mystical significance; of course, one of the Scooby Gang's mottos was: _There Are No Accidents,_ which probably answered that one.

Faith rarely talked about the British man who had been, very briefly, her replacement Watcher after Kakistos murdered her first, except to slice through the Scooby Gang's joking reminiscences of Wimpy Wesley the Dean of Dork with a quiet statement that Wesley had changed a great deal. He had been to a 'bad place', and unlike many had made it out alive, with his soul – mostly – intact. But like all such survivors, he had come through the fire with chunks hacked out of his soul, bits of him burned away that he could never get back: _"'Mix a chunk of James Bond with a dollop of Bruce Lee, add a hint of Terminator – and throw in a whole bag of Angelus with better fashion sense,_'" the Dark Slayer had advised the chastened group, _" 'in fact – just think of my evil twin brother on bad acid.'" _

Now there was an image to terrify. At that point, Dawn's heart had stopped when she heard Andrew rather coldly tell the Brit that he would keep his word and that Buffy wouldn't learn that Spike was back, restored by the amulet he had been wearing when he deep-sixed the Hellmouth. Once her heart started up again, Dawn had had to restrain herself from bursting out of the bushes and smothering Andrew with kisses. She was saved!

In the end, Buffy had chosen Spike as her Champion to save the world, but what nobody seemed to remember was that he had been Dawn's Champion first…

© 2007 C. D. Stewart

_Author's Note: "mystical rape" is a quote from **Clea Saal's** website (that can be accessed via **Cascade Library** The Sentinel Fan Fiction Archive. It is from her **Watcher's Universe** series of stories, which is a multi-Crossover between **Buffy The Vampire Slayer**, **The Sentinel** and **Highlander: The Series**…it's brilliantly written and well worth reading! _


	4. Chapter 4

**_Disclaimer_**_: Don't own, etc., etc. Joss Whedon rules supreme and retains pretty much everything. Only written for personal enjoyment and because this plot bunny just wouldn't die, even after some serious staking…_

**_Summary:_**_ Occurs after __**Brother, Unfortunately Mine**. Rating 18 for sexual references. The sibling theme is not entirely played out … _

**HOW TO KILL YOUR (PSYCHO) BOYFRIEND IN ONE HARD LESSON**

**Chapter 4 - Demon Lover **

"Hey," Spike greeted Wesley as he strolled into the other Englishman's office and discreetly closed the door after him, his eyes taking in with amusement the myriad piles of books, scrolls, stone tablets and…_Golfing Weekly._

The ex-Watcher laid down his pen. "There were doughnuts?"

"You're sweet enough," Spike apologised.

Wesley rose, but didn't approach Spike as he usually did, instead his face remained closed and sombre. Spike opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, but then his keen nose picked up a scent. Inclining his head on one side, he moved closer, openly scenting Wesley, who remained impassive.

_Fred._ Her scent had been on Wes before, but not as strong as…forget strong, try _marinated_. Fred's scent was all over Wesley; it was as if she had run a marathon and used Wesley to towel off – she was in every pore. The oestrogen and testosterone hit Spike's nostrils potently, triggering an instinctive response in his groin – and his fangs - that he had to instantly suppress. "Oh. _Last night?_"

Wesley nodded silently.

Spike blinked, "Well is my timing _fabulous_ or what?"

"Not really."

Spike looked at Wesley for a long moment, then turned his head and said over his shoulder, "Angel."

Despite Spike barely speaking any louder than a normal conversational tone, Wesley's office door opened instantly and Angel walked in, closing the door again before his eyes flicked automatically to Wesley's neck, which was still unbitten.

"Take a deep breath." Spike ordered his grandsire. "_Just do it_."

Angel inhaled a good lungful of technically unnecessary oxygen. "Oh. That's…"

"Practically ground into him, yeah." Spike affirmed.

"It was Illyria."

Both vampires looked at Wesley as he said the three words in a tone they couldn't quite decipher.

"You hurt anywhere?" Spike asked in a tone of voice so caring and gentle that it would have had even Buffy slack-jawed with amazement; as it was Angel turned his head and looked at his grandson with obvious astonishment.

"Not…only in a good way." Wesley assured him. "Fred – Illyria has access to Fred's…to Fred. Before Illyria…me and Fred, you know…as Fred was dying, one of her last regrets…one thing she was really _pissed _about…was not…"

"Getting up-close-and-personal with you. So Illyria decides it needs to integrate fully into this dimension in more ways than one, plus gets itself in good with the human it killed so it could steal her body by tumbling you." Spike summarised.

"_Perfect clarity_." Wesley whispered Angel's previous discernment of Spike's greatest ability. "In short, yes. Illyria has decided, for the time being anyway, that I am it's mate. Fred was able to come back for a while last night…and, for some unfathomable reason that makes me want to weep with relief, she's okay with this. But Illyria was in the driving seat for big chunks. I just thought…I don't know what I thought." Wesley shook his head wearily.

"Preaching to the choir, pet." Spike's lips twisted into a wry resemblance of a smile. "Dru'…I was with her for a century…Dru took me when _she_ wanted…and _how_ she wanted. Some of the things she did to me…I've fought three Slayers in my time, and Drusilla hurt me worse than any of them…regularly."

"I'm in love with Fred and it's Fred's body," Wesley shook his head, "but when Illyria – in a crazy way I feel as though I'm being unfaithful to Fred. Am I making _any _sense here?"

"In a way, yeah." Spike answered. "Your problem is that you've got _character_, unlike say…me, who'll shag anything with plump hips and big tits. Instead of being ruled by your gonads, you fell in love with the _person_ as well as the body you wanted to tumble, that's why it's harder for you to do the Standard Male Bad and go into 'all cats are grey in the dark' mode when you get it on with your sweetheart."

"I think I just fell down the rabbit hole. Spike is being profound…and getting it right." Angel looked at his second, muttering half to himself, "I _told_ you I didn't like where this was going…Wes' I'd give pretty much anything to be able to get rid of Illyria and restore Fred totally. Being a hitch-hiker in your own body…but, whatever we can do to help, we will."

"You did what you had to do. If you _had_ sent the sarcophagus back to the Deeper Well, Fred would never, ever have forgiven you for letting all those people die in agony on it's route there. First thing she'd have done would've been to stake the pair of you." Wesley assured them grimly. "It's just – keep quiet about the blood thing, okay. Illyria doesn't really get the vampire thing and Fred's not letting on to it."

"It doesn't know that –" Spike paused as he saw the way Angel's jaw tightened slightly and a subtle tension suddenly sprang up between Angel and Wesley.

"Illyria's an Old One, when it lived, the demon species that became vampires still walked the Earth in their original bodies, the Turok-Han." Wesley pointed out. "Those few humans Sired in its time were, and still are, classed as vastly inferior half-breeds usually killed on sight. It was only later when the Old Ones finally left our dimension because of spreading humanity that one of them Sired a human, who bit someone else and so forth. Illyria still doesn't really comprehend any of that, probably still not got over no longer being God-king of the Primordium, et cetera. Illyria just realises that you two are supernatural beings whose ancestral origins lie within it's own epoch." He looked thoughtful. "That may be one of the reasons why Illyria decided to stay with our group – the demons within you two are probably the closest thing Illyria still has to contemporaries."

Spike and Angel looked at each other, distinctly less than enthused by this idea.

_Continued in Chapter 5…_

© 2005 C. D. Stewart


	5. Chapter 5

**_Disclaimer_**_: Don't own, etc., etc. Joss Whedon rules supreme and retains pretty much everything. Only written for personal enjoyment and because this plot bunny just wouldn't die, even after some serious staking…_

**_Summary:_**_ Occurs after __**Brother, Unfortunately Mine**. Rating 18 for sexual references. The sibling theme is not entirely played out … _

**HOW TO KILL YOUR (PSYCHO) BOYFRIEND IN ONE HARD LESSON**

**Chapter 5 – Monstrous Machinations**

"Hush, hush." Ffion closed his trembling hands around the hot toddy. "Drink this. Poor dear."

Nigel gulped the drink down then surged up from the armchair, pacing around Ffion's London apartment, his eyes still wild. Ffion watched him warily, recognising the signs of those occasional outbursts of almost psychotic rage that were the only occasions when she really feared – and fancied – him. He had tumbled into her apartment in the small hours, dishevelled and babbling. It had taken a good half hour to get him calmed down enough to be coherent.

"I couldn't let him ruin our wedding. I wanted it to be perfect. Perfect," ranted Nigel waving his arms in a way that made her eye the Crown Derby warily. "He stood there and let them attack me! He protected _them_, two vampires, he would have attacked me himself to help them! And that skinny freak! He's not a vampire's bum-boy because he's her whore, whatever kind of she-demon-bitch she is! She dangled me in the air, choking the life out of me, and he just stood there!"

"I heard Winifred Burkle was killed," murmured Ffion, trying to reconcile his description with the timid stick figure she had met, but many demonic half-breeds looked human on the surface…vampires being a classic example of their ability to disguise what they really were behind a human façade.

"She. Will. Be."

Ffion narrowed her eyes at her fiancé as he ground the words out, an ugly light in his eyes that she recognised. Ffion came to a decision; she couldn't let Nigel go off on his own vengeance vendetta as there was a good chance he would mess up her grand scheme, assuming that Angel didn't simply hunt him down and slaughter him if he went after Wesley. The vampire creature had proven itself to be rather possessive of it's underlings, particularly long-term sidekicks like Wesley, and distinctly homicidal towards those who tried to hurt them. Angelus of course would willingly kill Wesley, but removing Angel's soul by any means other than him experiencing that 'perfect happiness' was complicated, dangerous and had a low chance of working. Ffion bit her glossy lips – the perfect crime, whether pick-pocketing or mass murder, was only ever the one that you got away with. Nigel was brainy enough as far as it counted, and his seething resentment would be very useful.

"I suppose they were still smarting from _my _visit." she commented idly.

"I – what?" Nigel stopped wearing a hole in her very costly Persian hearthrug and stared at her. "What did you say?"

"I went to LA to tell dear Wesley to steer clear of our wedding myself." Ffion shrugged.

"But -? I mean - ?" Nigel stumbled.

"Oh come _on_, Nigel! I have a Pure Mathematics Degree from Cambridge and an IQ rating of 130," Ffion lied, deliberately knocking off a score points from her rating so she was ten less than Nigel's own score, "did you seriously think I was going to retire like a good little brood mare and play the gracious matron, dropping out rugrats for the cause in between doing my needlework?"

He watched her with wide eyes as she unfolded her long legs from the armchair and stood up, looking at him with amusement. "I have a plan, my dear. A very carefully laid out little blueprint." Walking over to the drawer of one of her occasional tables, she pulled out the worn sepia photograph of her grandmother with some of the other female Watchers taken in 1902. "This is my goal."

He looked at the photograph, squinting at the pendant. "I don't understand. Ffion, the pendant is passed down from generation to generation in the Giles family. Only when their line from the First Watcher is extinct can the pendant be passed onto the next oldest families in the Watcher…"

"Right." She smiled as she saw the light-bulb begin to flicker. "Seen a Mrs Giles and 2.4 kids around lately?" Leaning in close, she plucked the photograph from his hand and tossed it casually onto the coffee table before whispering, "The Stone of Kara-Ma _is_ the power of the Watchers, my dear Nigel. Our lineage is the most ancient after that of Rupert Giles's family. I am going to hold the Watchers Council in the palm of my hand and _nothing_ is going to stand in the way of that. Not a five-foot-nothing American whore, Slayer or not, nor her traitorous pet Watcher, nor even a dozen vampires with a soul never mind the two who have ensorcelled your pathetic excuse of a brother. I'm founding a dynasty here, Nigel, and my descendants – _our descendents_ - are going to rule the Watchers Council with the Stone of Kara-Ma around their necks. How's that as a plan for you to be daddy's _good_ little boy?"

Nigel licked his lips and blinked rapidly; staring at her for a moment, he suddenly jerked forward and before she could move out of the way, shoved her back against the wall, knocking aside the standing lamp with one swat of his hand. Automatically Ffion raised her hands defensively to push him back, but paused uncertainly when his face broke in a very wide, very nasty smile and he said, "Rupert Giles is a disgrace to us all." His hands gripped the sides of her skirt and shoved it roughly up her legs to bunch around her hips. "He's a traitor to the Council," silk tore easily and Ffion gasped aloud as he plunged inside her, "so would it be far off the mark for me to venture that nobody would really be broken up if Rupert were to be killed helping his Slayer whore, leaving the way clear for the pendant to be passed on a more worthy bearer of the stone?" Without care he simply yanked apart her blouse, ignoring the buttons that flirted everywhere as they tore holes in the material, pulling the clasp on her bra and roughly fondling her freed breasts.

Ffion locked her legs around his pelvis as he began to pump vigorously, clutching at his shoulders as he forced her higher against the wall. "Take it from m-_eeee_," she gasped, "Rupert…_Giles_…won't - make - it – until…C-C-Christmas…"

"And then I shall deal with my treacherous pervert of a brother." Nigel leaned in close to her, "_Squeeze me…yessss._" Panting, he gasped out, "But not too quickly. Speaking of Christmas, I'll truss him up like a Yuletide turkey, and him give a ringside view of me dusting those two creatures. I think I'll do the nigger next, or the green thing – whichever, it doesn't really matter. Then he can watch me fuck that skinny bitch and slit her open from belly to throat. He is my brother…so I'll slit his own throat and put him out of his misery at that point…"

"Do - it - shallow," Ffion groaned, "if you…_oh_…cut to just the right depth round his neck, it'll take him a couple of hours to bleed to death. Somewhere nice and quiet, we can leave him to bleed out next to his whore and surrounded by the bodies or little dust-piles…of his friends." Her eyes fluttered closed as the hot, delicious warmth began to tighten deep within her stomach, wonderful sensations making her head spin as Nigel pounded into her gloriously. As she sped towards her first ever genuine climax during sex with Nigel, she managed to impart, "There – is – _ah-ah-aaah – _j-j-just one…v-v-very _small_ coooomplication…"

_Continued in Chapter 6…_

© 2005 C. D. Stewart


	6. Chapter 6

**_Disclaimer_**_: Don't own, etc., etc. Joss Whedon rules supreme and retains pretty much everything. Only written for personal enjoyment and because this plot bunny just wouldn't die, even after some serious staking…_

**_Summary:_**_ Occurs after _**_Brother, Unfortunately Mine_**_. Rating 18 for sexual references. The sibling theme is not entirely played out … _

**HOW TO KILL YOUR (PSYCHO) BOYFRIEND IN ONE HARD LESSON**

**Chapter 6 – A Teenager In Love - Not **

Harmony hit PRINT and watched the brightly coloured A4 sheets of paper grow on the pile with satisfaction. Most would consider it a trivial task to inspire pleasure, but being a vampire had given Harmony a new self-awareness. Shallow, yes, more than tending towards superficial, yes, but Harmony wasn't _stupid_. 

Being Angel's secretary and working for the Powers That Be (of course that was by default, since she seemed to be the only vampire around here who _didn't _have a soul and was therefore Evil) might not be far up the food chain, but Harmony knew it was more than she could have hoped for. She wasn't good at any of the things vampires were supposed to be good at – the slaughter and the mayhem, the cunning scheming and homicidal plotting. Look at how she'd nearly ended up dusted when that bitch Tamica had framed her for killing that demon liaison! She was probably the only vampire in history to _prefer _blood banks to the necks of living people because the most terrified – initially - human seemed to recognise her ineptness in about a half-second flat and realise _they_ were more lethal than _her –_

"I-I-Is this Angel's office?"

Harmony looked up and blinked in surprise; for all their exotic client-base, teenage human girls didn't feature. The girl was pretty in that Helen Bonham Carter 'sweet rose' way, with waist length brunette hair that wrapped around her like strands of silk, bespeaking either very expensive conditioner or else the sort of natural genetic good fortune that could make a vampiress go green with envy. She was slender but with nicely curved hips and a definite but not too large bosom. Right now however her eyes were damp with tears. _Someone's probably stolen her teddy bear. _"Yes but he's in conference – Hey – I said – Hey!"

"Why us?" Angel asked in exasperation. He seemed to be asking that question a lot lately, and it was starting to annoy him.

"Traditionally, Wolfram & Hart –" Gunn's explanation got no further as they all heard Harmony's yell of _" 'You can't go in!'"_

Harmony was on the interloper's heels as the young girl burst through open the double doors of Angel's office. However, by that time every occupant of the room was facing the door in a deceptively relaxed stance that belied the coiled readiness in each one's attitude and the fact that everyone had a hand on a weapon. This was after all, _Wolfram & Hart, _meaning anything could burst through the door – and sometimes did.

The teenage girl took in the occupants of the room with one sweeping glance, as they looked at _her_ in baffled confusion. Then her lower lip trembled and her composure melted away like ice-cream on a warm hearth.

Spike did a double take and took a step forward. "Little Bit?"

"S-S-_Spike_._" _The girl hurtled herself forward to bury her face in his black T-shirt covered chest and began to sob brokenly.

"_Oomph._" But Spike hardly swayed under the impact; it took a lot more than an adolescent human, former primordial cosmic energy being or not, to put a vampire on his ass. His arms came round the shaking girl. "Sshh, pet." Lowering his chin till it rested on her hair he began to rub his hand on her back in soothing concentric circles. "Harm, get her a mug of coffee, plenty of cream, two sugars. Come on, Dawnie." Holding her to himself with effortless strength, Spike eased himself back and down onto one of the leather couches in Angel's office.

"The _Key_?" Fred stage-whispered to Wesley as they gathered around, glad to notice that Illyria had not stirred yet.

Wesley nodded silent affirmation, not taking his eyes of the girl, his expression troubled. Gunn and Lorne exchanged raised eyebrows and _oh-oh here we go again_ looks.

Sniffling loudly, Dawn raised her head and rubbed at her eyes until Fred rapidly produced a handkerchief. "T-T-Thanks."

Angel looked at her curiously, having only ever really seen her at a distance; he had left for LA immediately after the then Scooby Gang destroyed Mayor Richard Wilkins I-III, a.k.a. the "giant demon snake", long before she arrived in Sunnydale. She wasn't Buffy's real sister of course. A mystical construct by an unknown entity for unknown reasons countless aeons ago, she had existed as pure energy for untold millennia until some guardian monks had forged her into human form and sent her to the Slayer to be protected from the Hell God Glory. Buffy had done exactly that, and died in the process. Somehow, however, Angel found himself unable to dislike this slender fawn.

"What's up, Niblet?" Spike asked as Harmony joined the semi-circle of surrounding adults, holding out the requested coffee. Taking the mug from her and handing it to Dawn, his voice hardened. "You're not in LA on your _own_?"

Dawn gave him her ultimate Bambi-After-His-Mom's-Been-Shot look, but it bounced off like a rubber ball against a wall. "T-the others think I'm sorting out my admissions paperwork at UC Sunnydale for the weekend."

"Didn't that get…sucked in or…down…into the crater when I closed the Hellmouth, like Sunnydale?" Spike asked.

"Not quite. They lost half a parking lot, that's all, and it's more of a valley actually. It's already being considered a special conservation area. Giles bought that old mansion on the hill," Dawn paused as Angel visibly flinched, but decided to go along with everyone else and tactfully ignore it, " - it was about the only other thing that survived besides UC Sunnydale, oh, and the airport, so we're camping out there while we rebuild new houses at the top. I loved the school when Buffy and I were in Rome, but I thought it was best if I went to UC Sunnydale with the other Slayers who are still Freshmen, so Buffy's not worrying about me being someplace else." Dawn explained.

"So what happened?" Gunn asked, to the point as ever.

Dawn looked at Spike miserably. "I-I really, really need your help. I-I just didn't know who to turn to. Everyone's working so hard, flat out, to get things up and running. We've got new Slayers arriving by the busload every day, a lot of them with their entire families back to the _nth_ generation in tow; half of them have _no_ idea what's happening and most go into serious denial when they find out. Then there's all this hassle with the new Watcher Council and the _old_ Watcher Council –"

"Yeah, we've had run-ins with the Old Guard." Angel admitted. "I imagine they're even less happy with _you_ up in Sunnydale than they are with us here."

Dawn snorted, "Tell me about it! You wouldn't believe the crap they've tried to pull on us, especially messing with Giles' head – can you believe they actually sent letters addressed to Judas Iscariot II, c/o Sunnydale?"

"Charming." Lorne muttered sarcastically.

"Yeah…and Giles tried to get this book for us…the something Codex…" Dawn scowled fiercely at the memory, "…and somehow the Watchers Council got hold of it and instead sent this other book by that famous Italian guy, Dante, you know, where he gets taken on a tour of hell…it was the last book, the famous one with the Ninth Circle of Hell, the deepest, worst and most terrible pit, which is for –"

"…those who betray." Wesley Wyndham-Pryce finished for her.

Angel shot Wesley a sharp glance, something in the Englishman's voice making the hairs on his dead vampire arms prickle – no mean feat, but Wesley's attention was, seemingly, focussed entirely on Dawn. 

Dawn nodded in furious affirmation, "That's right. 'Traitor' is the _nicest_ thing they've called him."

"Hey, it's one up on 'perverted'." Harmony interjected, jerking her head towards Wesley.

"_Thank you_, Harmony." Wesley's tone was biting.

Dawn blinked then went on hurriedly, "I-I just don't want to be the cause of _another_ problem they've got to run around and fix, they hardly get chance to eat and sleep as it is…besides, I feel so _stupid_. It's all my _fault_." She appealed to Spike, "I really thought I was being careful this time, I _swear_. I promise, after Justin turned out to be a vampire –"

"Jeez, what _is_ it with you Summers women and the undead?" 

There was another frozen silence and Lorne raised his hands in defensive surrender as everyone glared at him.

"It was ages ago, and she didn't _know_." Spike defended her sharply. 

Dawn gave her defender a watery smile and hastened to explain to them, "I met him at a party, it was my first date. He was really cool, even though he was a football jock. We were in the woods and Buffy –" 

"You _parked_ on a _first _date?" Angel demanded censoriously.

This time everyone glared at him; Spike raised both eyebrows and drawled, "_Hello_, glasshouse and whacking great boulder?"

Angel cringed; Spike had been the non-consenting recipient of some of Angelus' more exotic sexual experiments and knew exactly what sort of debauchery the older vampire was capable of. Hard-core pornography had nothing on Angelus' appetite for perversion.

"Anyway, he was…you know." Dawn shrugged. "This time I was so_ careful_ I was practically _paranoid_."

"It ended badly." Lorne stated rather than asked. "The tune changes, but the song remains the same."

"That's the problem." Dawn looked at Spike. "He won't accept that it's _ended_ atall. That's why I'm here. I'm being stalked, literally by the psychotic demon boyfriend from hell."

_Continued in Chapter 7…_

© 2005 C. D. Stewart


	7. Chapter 7

**_Disclaimer_**_: Don't own, etc., etc. Joss Whedon rules supreme and retains pretty much everything. Only written for personal enjoyment and because this plot bunny just wouldn't die, even after some serious staking…_

**_Summary:_**_ Occurs after _**_Brother, Unfortunately Mine_**_. Rating 18 for sexual references. The sibling theme is not entirely played out … _

**HOW TO KILL YOUR (PSYCHO) BOYFRIEND IN ONE HARD LESSON**

**Chapter 7 – The Fear Philosophy**

"No problem. Give me a photograph and I'll go eviscerate him." Spike shrugged.

"Wait!" Dawn yelped. "I mean – what about your soul?"

"Allowed to kill evil things, love. I reckon 'psychotic demon boyfriend from hell' qualifies." Spike pointed out.

Dawn beamed at him. "I've been so scared." She admitted

"So you skipped on your sister the _Slayer _and came all the way south to LA to find…_Spike?_" Gunn looked at the peroxide blond vampire sceptically.

Dawn straightened her spine, taking exception to the black guy's disbelieving tone. "_Spike_ protected me when nobody else _could_. He was almost _killed_ protecting me from Glory. He was the only one out of _all of them_ who talked to me like I wasn't a little kid or a retard, or who got all squirrelly and embarrassed and stuttering when it came to me drinking –"

"Spike let you drink?" Fred blurted.

"No, he didn't just _let_ me drink." Dawn glared at them all, her distress and fear dissolving into a protective anger. "Spike let me see that a regular hangover is nothing to boast about, he also taught me all those _lines_ guys come up with to get girls like me into the sack." She looked pointedly at Angel, Wesley and Gunn, who shared embarrassed she's-got-us-there glances and wisely kept silent as Harmony and Fred's faces also took on unfriendly, we-know-what-she-means-buster expressions.

Dawn heaved a sigh and her head drooped again. "That's how it began to…well, _dawn _on me, no pun intended…that Stefan _wasn't_ all sweetness and light. At first he was cool when I wanted to wait and wouldn't…you know…straight away, but then one night he kept insisting on buying me mixers and Jack Daniels instead of beer. I got around that – tipped it all into a plant pot. After that, when that didn't work he started making these comments about, didn't I love him? How I was just stringing him along, and didn't I like him? What was wrong with him? He got _really_ nasty when he said he'd been seeing me on my own with just Xander, or Andrew, or Principal Wood, or even _Giles_. I mean, _Giles_ is like, my _dad_."

"So you dumped him and he went Norman Bates." Harmony finished for her, nodding wisely and then scowling as _she _became the cynosure of all eyes. "What are you people looking at? I went to Sunnydale High too, remember, Angel? I lost being able to ever look in a mirror again at my high school graduation, courtesy of the mayor who wanted to be a giant demon snake and eat the class of '99! Believe me, kid, you're _lucky_ you realised what was happening so _soon_. That possessive machismo bullshit is great for about two days, then it becomes seriously terrorizing."

Dawn nodded. "I know! That's why I came. I mean, he's been making threatening calls, emails, sending me dead flowers with the heads cut off…he's gone totally off the deep end…"

"Don't you think he'll give up and move on if Dawn isn't around Sunnydale for a while?" Fred asked Harmony, without much hope; obsessive psycho-stalker guy situations rarely ended well. Look at what Knox had done to _her_ in the name of claiming to 'love' her.

The blond vampiress shook her head slowly, "Sorry, Dawn, but from what you've said, this sounds like one of the bad ones." Harmony looked at Spike and Angel, her face serious, "I think you'll end up having to kill this one, it's probably the only way you'll be able to stop him."

"No problem, pet." Spike's voice was casually unconcerned, but his eyes were cold and flat and dead.

"The thing is…I don't _understand_." Dawn shook her head. "Why is he like this? Why do guys get like this? Where does all this -" Dawn deepened her voice into a sort of cartoonish Homer Simpson grunt, "I'm-superior-'cause-I've-balls-instead-of-boobs- and-I-own-you," reverting to her normal tone she finished, "- _shit_ actually come from? He was the one in the wrong!"

There was an uncomfortable silence as the male contingent found themselves being regarded with unanimous chilly yeah-we'd-like-to-know looks from the female side. Showing courage, if possibly not much sense, Angel finally attempted weakly, "Well…"

"Fear."

Everyone looked at Wesley as the Englishman spoke with quiet authority.

"Fear?" Dawn looked down at herself. "What is there to be scared of here, exactly?"

"Not you personally." Wesley explained. "All men fear women for one very simple reason. Women don't really _need_ men, and men have always lived in terror of you all realising that."

"Well, sure, we can a get bit rambunctious but we're pretty essential to the whole continuation-of- the-species thing, Wes." Gunn pointed out.

"Not really." The Englishman shrugged. "It would need less than twenty _men_ to provide sufficient genetic diversity to support a healthy population of several billion people. Keep about a dozen of the best specimens – the great minds like Nelson Mandela, Dr Stephen Hawking _et _al, plus a few beefcakes – and kill the rest."

"You're not serious?" Angel asked in amazement.

"As a heart attack. If tomorrow morning all men bar those few were executed, all wars on this planet would instantly cease. You would also get rid of over ninety percent of the world's murderers, rapists, paedophiles and all-other-criminals in one fell swoop. All the billions that male-dominated military organisations poured into making nastier and bigger weapons would instead be used for things like medical care, education, housing, ecological conservation, space exploration and so on. Every hundred years or so they could let a few male babies mature enough to harvest fresh DNA to maintain human biodiversity before they killed them."

"So we're only needed for our sperm and the heavy lifting?" Gunn challenged before realising he had uttered the s-word in front of Dawn, who merely looked fascinated at Wesley's theory.

"We're not needed for either. Microwaves, washing machines, lawnmowers you can ride and the motorcar – just for a start - mean a woman doesn't really need a lot of muscle anymore. Sperm banks and IVF have removed the need for a either parent to be actually _present_ for procreative sex and as for recreational sex, Hanson's Double Ridged Big Boy vibrator is all you really need for multiple orgasms without mess, fuss and other drawbacks, such as the constant need to fake orgasms that could win an Oscar™ and believably tell ego-massaging lies."

"Hanson's _what_?" Dawn blurted.

"Okay!" What little blood in Angel's body there was dashed to his face so he could flush in deep embarrassment, "We really _don't_ need a sociological debate, here. This Stefan is a Big Bad, that's all we need to know. Dawn, you can stay –"

"No." Dawn cut him off. "No offence to anyone, I mean, I'm sure you're all very nice, but I intend to be Spike's shadow…Unless you and Harmony..?"

"Uh, no. Great timing of yours though, Little Bit. Up until a few days ago I was having to crash on Dr Strangelove here's couch and he's only got one bedroom. Fortunately for you, I now – "

"Squat uninvited and non-paying in the hotel that _I_ own." Angel interjected.

"Can't believe how I forgot about your fun dog-in-the-manger 'tude." Spike shot back. "It's got five floors, sixty-two inhabitable bedrooms, plus Olympic sized swimming pool with sauna, spa pool, and health suite. Just ignore my grumpy granddad -"

"_Stop calling me that._"

Wesley hastily cut in, "If you could give us a photograph or drawing of your…er…ex…so we know who to look for and I'll see what I can dig up on his species, stat."

"Thanks." Dawn beamed at them all gratefully.

"Er…not to rain on this parade or anything, children," Lorne inserted at this juncture, "but aren't we forgetting the Slayer?"

"I don't want Buffy to know about this!" Dawn exclaimed almost jumping off Spike's lap in alarm. "I feel enough like a naïve idiot as it is. I want to deal with this on my own. I've got to learn to – I can't go whining to Buffy every time I do something stupid."

"That's admirably adult of you, cinnamon bun, but I've been around the block enough times to know - it _ain't_ gonna happen." Lorne contradicted. "These things have a way of taking on a life of their own and going public at – usually – the _worst_ possible moment for certain parties to become aware of what went down. I'm sure I don't need to recite some of our more spectacular low points?"

There was a charged silence as Lorne looked very pointedly in turn at Angel, Gunn and Wesley. None of the three men could look at the other two as each one recalled less than shining hours, as the empath demon intended. When Wesley's informant the demon Merl had been murdered, Gunn's loyalties being torn between his old crew and Angel Investigations had nearly gotten all of Team Angel killed at Caritas – he had lied to Wesley and stolen evidence from the crime scene; Angel had flat out lied about having sex with Darla and had reaped a whirlwind of repercussions; instead of turning to his friends, Wesley had tried to avert the _father will kill the son_ prophecy on his own, leading to his own personal road trip down the famous highway of good intentions straight to hell.

Satisfied that he had made his point, Lorne continued, "Take it from me, chocolate muffin, your big sis and her company _are_ going to find out at some point what is going on, and not only is Buffy going to be very angry and deeply _hurt_ that you didn't go to _her_ or the Scooby Gang for help, but I'm guessing she's not going to be enthralled that your _first_ alternative choice was to scoot for LA and hook up with her two ex-squeezes for help."

_Continued in Chapter 8…_

© 2008 C. D. Stewart


	8. Chapter 8

**_Disclaimer_**_: Don't own, etc., etc. Joss Whedon rules supreme and retains pretty much everything. Only written for personal enjoyment and because this plot bunny just wouldn't die, even after some serious staking…_

**_Summary:_**_ Occurs after _**_Brother, Unfortunately Mine_**_. Rating 18 for sexual references. The sibling theme is not entirely played out … _

**HOW TO KILL YOUR (PSYCHO) BOYFRIEND IN ONE HARD LESSON**

**Chapter 8 – Slayer Certainty**

For a moment the uncomfortable truth hung in the air; then Dawn Summers slowly stood up, tall and straight, from where she had been huddled against Spike. Her voice was quiet but firm as her chin tilted up; she met their eyes squarely: "Then Buffy will just have to _deal_. Spike is the only one who has always been there for me, even when my _sister_ and everyone around her were treating me like just one more _problem_ that they had to deal with - or get rid of."

"One disaster at a time." Angel answered quietly. "Psycho boyfriend first, pissed off Slayer and Co next."

"You got a picture of him, pet?" Spike asked Dawn, looking up at her determined posture with pride. She was all grown up now, his Niblet.

Fumbling in her purse, Dawn pulled out a large colour photograph that was a bit ragged around the edges and uncertainly held it out to Angel, who took it, looked at it, shook his head negatively and passed it to Wesley. Getting up off the couch, Spike took his turn as it passed around the group, but didn't recognise the species either.

The photograph had been taken at the Student bar on UC Sunnydale campus at some party. Clearly the place was now the usual hangout of local youth, though that made sense since the Bronze was at the bottom of the crater with the rest of Sunnydale. It showed Dawn was standing as part of a group of grinning young women and men with what appeared to be a band in the right corner. A tall man had his arm tight around Dawn's waist, hoisting a glass in the air and grinning at the camera. The man's skin was a slightly unnatural shade of orange-gold that not even too much fake tan could produce, and like the Groosalug and Lorne, his eyes were solidly coloured around the pupil, unlike human eyes. Whereas Lorne's eyes were red and Gru's purple, this guy's were also a sort of dull gold-orange. The fingers on his hands were a bit longer and appeared to be more bony than a human's, but other than those minor indicators, there was nothing about him that overtly declared him to be a non-human species, nor anything that yelled 'evil', except possibly his questionable dress sense.

"Harmony, take Dawn to the kitchen and get her something to eat," Angel ordered. "After that, Spike will take you to the Hyperion - stay with her. Lorne, you go with them. You know the Sanctuary spell that the Furies put on Caritas, lay the whammy on so that even if hell boy gets in he can't touch Dawn…"

"My pleasure," Lorne handed back the photograph as Dawn prepared to go with Harmony.

"I'll hit the books," Wesley told Angel. "Dawn, what did Stefan say his full name was?"

"Stefan might be an alias?" Dawn hadn't thought of that.

Wesley's expression was bleak. "Leopards rarely change their spots. The unpleasant thought occurs that Stefan may have done this sort of thing before."

"And many non-human species have lifecycles that vary hugely from that humans, yours truly being _l'example du jour._" Lorne pointed out even as he nodded agreement of the Englishman's assessment. "'Stefan' could've feasibly looked all of 20 years old for the past half-century. Hate to say it, cupcake, but this Stefan's M.O. sounds nastily well-practised."

"Stefan Ulrich Ologugoff." Dawn recited. "He said his grandparents were Ukrainian. He told me when I asked what the U. stood for. S-t-ef-a-n, U-l-r-i-c-h, O-l-o-g-u-"

"G-o-f-f." Finished Wesley grimly.

"Uh-oh, I know _that_ face," Gunn groaned.

"Stefan and Ulrich _are_ real names. 'Ologugoff' bears a close resemblance to a real Russian surname, but not quite," Wesley told them. "If you rearrange the surname and add the 'S' from Stefan and 'U' from Ulrich, you finish up with 'Gulffosouog'. It literally means 'small-horned ones'. It's the collective term for about ten or eleven demon sub-species that have created quite a little niche for themselves across the pan-dimensional realms in the mercenary-stroke-killers-for-hire line. Thugs, heavies, kill-their-own-spawner-for-a-buck types. They're born with little vestigial horns on their heads, similar to Lorne, but they just saw them off when they move into our dimension. As long as they hide their eyes, they look like nothing more than fat guys with bad tans."

"Speaking of tans," Fred put in, "do you have anything of Stefan's? Handkerchief he wiped his face with, anything that might have a few cells I can analyse? I might be able to narrow it down from ten or eleven to just two or three."

"Way ahead of you, "Dawn chortled, "and Willow says I don't pay attention to the science!" Reaching into her purse again, she pulled out one of those re-sealable small, clear plastic bags, inside which was a cheap plastic disposable razor.

"Ooh, clever girl." Fred took the bag.

"I asked to use his bathroom, and swapped his razor for mine." Dawn explained with a grin.

"What would you have done if he used an electric shaver?" Gunn asked.

"His toothbrush had replaceable heads." Dawn countered.

"I'll go hit the books too." Gunn decided, "See if I can make things all nice and legal for when we whack this son of Norman B."

As Dawn allowed Harmony to lead her from the office, she had to blink back tears of gratitude. She had gone to find Spike and the whole lot of them had just dropped everything to pitch in. Harmony took hold of her wrist and tugged her along, babbling excitedly to distract Dawn so the girl didn't notice Angel jerk his head back, silently telling Lorne to stay.

"How long do you think before Buffy figures it out and the entire Scooby Gang turn up on our doorstep?" Angel asked gloomily.

Lorne shrugged. "Four days, maximum. Realistically, I think you got two." The green demon waggled his forefinger at Angel and then Spike, who had remained as Gunn, Fred and Wesley left to do their thing. "_I've_ been reading those Watcher Diaries on the web _too_, kiddies, and the key word here is: _loss._ Buffy lost you to Los Angeles and then she lost her mom to the vicious vagaries of Just Life. Next she lost Riley to the Initiative – again – 'cause the boy just couldn't deal with Girl Power, and she lost Spike to the First Evil when he saved the world and got toasted extra crispy – no offence."

"Dawn is the centre of Buffy's world," Spike acknowledged, "and because of that she's hyper-sensitive to everything in Dawn's life. There will be hell to pay – and I'm not speaking metaphorically here - when Buffy realises Dawn's done a bunk and come down here. Buffy's going to be angry, hurt and seething with jealousy."

"Jealousy?" Angel frowned at the Spike's phraseology, but didn't doubt his grandson – he had long ago learned that when Spike spoke without baiting or name calling, it was time to set back and listen to what usually turned out to be sound sense; that had clued him to those instances when the usually jovial Lorne sounded forth _without_ interspersing his words with references to assorted confectionary – like right now.

"Oh yeah, take it from _this_ big green monster," Lorne told him. "No matter how old we get, there's always a little bit of us that still wants to be the most important person in the life of our child. Buffy is the closest thing Dawn has to a mother, and big sis will be in an almighty snit over the fact that Dawn's first port in a storm wasn't _her_." The green empath demon growled, "You know - what really makes me so pissed at those ancient Shadowmen we-know-all idiots is that they _knew_ they were creating a long line of little girls who wouldn't live to grow up, and they didn't _care_. I looked up the stats, boys. Buffy Summers is the first Slayer in about forever to live to twenty-five, and one of only four in the last three centuries that made it past twenty-one. Buffy Summers has lived flipping the bird at the fact that statistically, she shouldn't have made it past eighteen, and she's determined beyond paranoia to give Dawn the freedom and happiness that _her_ teenage years should have consisted of, but didn't."

"She'll be furious with _herself_ for not spotting Stefan-the-scumbag from two miles distant, and me and Spike are going to be her whipping boys for all the anger she can't vent on _Dawn_." Angel translated. "What joy."

"Sometimes being the good guys really sucks." commiserated Spike as he left with Lorne to go hurry Dawn along; he wanted her safely in the hotel with that big Sanctuary spell humming.

Gunn hurried off towards his office, his thoughts on his own sister Alannah, whom he had failed to save. Dawn had that same springy step, bright gaze and can-do outlook of his baby sister. Damn, he missed her.

Wesley reached out a hand and carefully tugged Fred around a support pillar as the Texan held the plastic bag up and examined it with totally focussed interest. "I think there may even be a little _blood_ on this. Go, Dawn!"

"Indeed, a true chip of the Buffy block." Wesley grinned at her enthusiasm, unfazed when she blobbed her tongue out at him. "I'll see what I can find – what Dawn's given us should be enough for us to make a positive ID."

"Between my science and your creepy source books, we'll have it wrapped up in no time." Fred assured him cheerily. "I don't know if this'll help, but there is one thing you might need to know…"

"What?" Wesley asked in concern.

"I'm not wearing any underwear." She turned and walked into the lab, desperately trying to hold back her giggles as he stood staring after her, slack-jawed.

_Continued in Chapter 9…_

© 2007 C. D. Stewart


	9. Chapter 9

**_Disclaimer_**_: Don't own, etc., etc. Joss Whedon rules supreme and retains pretty much everything. Only written for personal enjoyment and because this plot bunny just wouldn't die, even after some serious staking…_

**_Summary:_**_ Occurs after _**_Brother, Unfortunately Mine_**_. Rating 18 for sexual references. The sibling theme is not entirely played out … _

**HOW TO KILL YOUR (PSYCHO) BOYFRIEND IN ONE HARD LESSON**

**Chapter 9 – Des Res., Angel Style**

"_Whoa._" Dawn tilted her head right back. "Can we say Roaring Twenties? Surely the floor and the walls _and_ these columns can't be real marble?" She pressed her hand against one of the lobby's supporting columns.

"Yes they are. Welcome to my humble abode. Mr Grumpy here's _casa su casa_." Spike jerked a thumb at Angel.

"A whole hotel?" Dawn looked at Angel. "Did you win the lottery?"

"It wasn't that expensive to buy." Angel mumbled as she went over and peered into the office and then behind the reception desk before going over to the elevator. He could almost see the translucent shade of Cordelia at what used to be her desk. "It was closed down in 1979 and scheduled for demolition in 1998 when the holding company couldn't find a buyer."

"Condemned? But it's beautiful. What's the skinny?" Dawn folded her arms and glared at her Champion and his two sheepishly faced friends. Sheepish was not a good look on anything with green skin.

Spike smiled, "Okay, you got me. You'll be as safe as houses here, pet, but you'll have to be prepared for things that go bump in the night…and clatter, bang, groan, moan, scream, rattle –"

"The hotel was built at the height of the Art Deco period," Lorne cut off the blond vampire with a glare, "financed by a very wealthy hotelier who spared no expense. He'd done the same in half-a-dozen U.S. cities and hit gold every time. The Rockefellers, Astors, Hiltons, U.S. Presidents, all those types practically lived in his hotels."

"So what went wrong here?" Dawn looked down at the lobby floor in alarm. "Don't tell me this thing's built on a Hellmouth too?"

"Close but not quite." Angel admitted, casting a nostalgic glance around the hotel's lobby. If these walls could talk…it would be a very bad thing. "There was a paranoia demon nesting on the site. The construction disturbed it but instead of leaving for a new home, the demon just moved into the hotel when the building was finished in 1928 and spent the next half a century driving the staff, long-term residents and guests to suicide, murder or both. I lived here for a while in the Fifties. In 1952, at the height of that idiot McCarthy's Communist Witch-hunt, I was lynched from _that_ balcony by the hotel guests because they thought I was a government spy who'd murdered the guy in the next room to mine."

"Right there? I'll put up a plaque." Spike taunted, avoiding Lorne's attempt to kick him.

The green demon admitted to Dawn, "Basically, my apple Danish, this hotel is haunted with a capital 'H'. In 1979 the hotel closed down for good after the morning that the manager did the wake-up calls personally…with a double-barrelled shotgun. The company who owned it by then couldn't sell a place with a murder rate higher than New York City, so…"

"So when you say a _lot_ of ghosts," Dawn put her hands on her hips and glared at them, "you mean –"

"This is Spook Grand Central Station." Spike confessed.

"Okay."

"That's it?" Angel questioned.

"Guys! I was a mega-powerful energy being for billions of years. I was only human for a week before an awesomely powerful Hell God tried to turn me into calamari. I've lived on a Hellmouth for four years and survived three Apocalypses…or Apocalypsii - whatever. The restless dead I can deal with."

There being no effective counter-argument to this, Angel nodded to Spike to let Dawn pick a room, while Lorne got ready with the Sanctuary whammy while he headed back to the office. Uncomfortable as it would be, he intended to swing by Cord – the Groosalug's apartment and ask Gru to stay at the hotel overnight with Spike and Dawn. Assuming the worst, that Stefan was already here, they didn't really expect him to make a move until tomorrow or the next day if he was, hopefully, really stupid enough to let them dig in their defences.

_Continued in Chapter 10…_

© 2007 C. D. Stewart


	10. Chapter 10

**_Disclaimer_**_: Don't own, etc., etc. Joss Whedon rules supreme and retains pretty much everything. Only written for personal enjoyment and because this plot bunny just wouldn't die, even after some serious staking…_

**_Summary:_**_ Occurs after _**_Brother, Unfortunately Mine_**_. Rating 18 for sexual references. The sibling theme is not entirely played out … _

**HOW TO KILL YOUR (PSYCHO) BOYFRIEND IN ONE HARD LESSON**

**Chapter 10 – Love Shack**

Fred sniggered as Wesley fumbled with the very expensive tumbler lock on his apartment door, a very un-proper curse escaping his lips until he caught it. Pushing open his door, he snagged her wrist and pulled her inside. Fred back-heeled the door shut with authority so that the lock engaged automatically then pressed herself back against the solid wood as Wesley moved in close. She wound her arms around his neck and returned his passionate kiss, smiling inside as she felt his hands slide her dress up, up…

Wesley paused as his fingers caressed cool silk at the top of her warm outer thighs. "You said you weren't wearing underwear."

Fred tugged gently at one earlobe with her teeth. "I lied."

Wesley's fingers tightened and the destroyed silk thong fluttered unnoticed to the floor. Fred deftly unbuckled his belt and drew down his pants' zipper until she freed his straining arousal from his briefs. "_Now_." She ordered.

Wesley cupped her buttocks, raising her up slightly as she parted her legs so he could ease inside her before gently lowering her back down onto his fully swollen organ. He pressed kisses to her throat and jaw but they were both too excited to last long and he came a few seconds after she did. Breathing heavily he gently slid from her slick heat before nuzzling her neck. "You're a very naughty girl."

"You bet." She kissed him again. It had really turned her on, knowing the effect her words had had on Wesley, making him wait all day. "Besides, we deserve it. We found Dawn's nasty, so yay us!"

Laughing he finally stood back and pinched her backside. "Open the wine, you fiend, then shoo!"

While Fred took care of the wine, Wesley expertly threw together a pasta salad with the speed of someone used to living alone. It was ironic, Fred cooked up all sorts of weird stuff in her lab, and she adored food – she could eat three times her own bodyweight in one sitting – but cooking was as much a mystery to her as _Huckstadter's Fractal Geometry & Twelve-Dimensional Space_ was to Harmony. Pick the culinary cliché of your choice – _burn water_, etc., - that was Winifred Burkle.

They ate dinner and settled on the couch with the rest of the wine, their conversation inevitably turning to Dawn Summers and by extension, the Scooby Gang.

"I'd like to meet an actual Slayer." Fred admitted. "A reasonably sane one," she amended with a frown, thinking of Dana, and that scary Faith, the Vampire Slayer.

Acutely aware that Fred still retained Angel's false implanted memories, and therefore her memory of meeting Faith was fuzzy (because when the Dark Slayer had come to the hotel to help them recapture Angelus so Willow could re-ensoul him back to being Angel, Faith had had quite a lot of interaction with Connor, who of course had been airbrushed from the picture), Wesley quickly picked up the conversational thread. "Buffy Summers is an extraordinary woman. She didn't just break the Slayer mould, she smashed it and then jumped up and down on the pieces."

"From what I've read of the so-called Slayer Tradition, I don't blame her." Fred scowled. "No offence, Wesley, but I'm reading those web Watcher Diaries like everyone else – in more dimensions than you'd think - and the Slayer's existence was beyond bleak. She had no family; no friend; no lover. She lived and died alone except for her Watcher, who usually did nothing but stand there and tut-tut when she was finally killed."

"Yes, it was wrong. That's why I'm fully behind what Buffy and Giles are trying to do. I was assigned as Faith's Watcher fresh out of the Academy and made a complete balls-up of it. I was greener than Lorne and completely at sea. Giles said I was a blithering idiot and he was right. Faith was in terrible emotional pain, but all I did was spout pompous lectures about the very same 'hallowed' Watcher traditions that helped give each Slayer a life expectancy lower than that of a severely depressed lemming." Wesley told Fred very firmly.

The last thing he wanted was for Fred to find out how Faith had tortured him after fleeing Sunnydale upon awaking from her coma, and if Fred did, he wanted it clear that he largely had only himself to blame, which might enable him to talk down Illyria if the warrior-demon took issue. Although…Wesley was under no illusions, Faith would have tortured him to death if Angel hadn't…which brought another issue to mind. Angel was still clearly in a huff about the fact that Spike fed directly from Wesley while Angel had his daily mugs, supposedly from the flask in the kitchen that Fred's tests determined was still being doped with Luaric.

Of course he _had_ fed Angel after he rescued Angel from the ocean, but that had been from his arm, not his neck; Angel had never broached the subject of _that_ event since the dark vampire didn't know with absolute certainty exactly which memories his friends retained unaltered and what had been changed or erased altogether, because of course, yet again, Connor had been responsible for Angel being in the ocean. Regardless, Wesley would have to sort the current situation out with Angel soon, because the vampire could romp home with Olympic Gold in Brooding for America -

"You did your best." Fred soothed, then reluctantly placed her empty glass on the table. "I'd better go. The traffic on Belmont's a bitch at this time. I should invent a car that flies, like Marty McFly's DeLorean, right over their heads."

"You should just move in."

The words bypassed Wesley's internal censor and passed his lips before he had chance to realise he'd actually said them aloud. Beside him Fred went very still and Wesley swallowed as his throat suddenly turned drier than the Sahara.

"From tonight?" Fred asked brightly after a heartbeat.

"_Yes_. W-Whenever you want to." Wesley instantly responded, trying to sound as if he wasn't begging.

"What about the times that Illyria emerges?" Fred asked, very softly.

"Two sex-maniacs for the price of one," Wes joked feebly, "I'm a _man_; you think I'm about to complain?"

She punched his arm. "You wish. In that case, I bags the rest of this wine, you clean up these plates, sex-slave."

Jumping up, Wesley adopted a grossly hunch-backed posture like Bela Lugosi in a bad 1950s Hammer House of Horror movie, lisping, "Yeth, mithtreth. Ath you command." Taking the plates back into the kitchen, he was able to release the huge, happy smile he couldn't contain, aware that Fred had deliberately given them both space to regain their composure.

What had just happened was far from a minor decision for Fred to make. Wesley had no conflict – he would abide by whatever Fred wished, but she was a prisoner in her own body, subject to the vagaries and whims of Illyria. He knew her greatest fear was that Illyria would seriously injure or kill him, because Fred knew that while ever the demon was in Fred's body, Wesley would never fight back – he had, did and would allow the demon to subjugate his body in whatever way it chose. Since that first night, Illyria was gradually becoming more sexually adventurous and sometimes had left Wesley with faint bruises or scratches that really were nothing to him – he'd had worse; even Lilah had hurt him more. But Fred looked at each bruise with an ocean of guilt brimming in her eyes even though he reassured her they were nothing more than any enthusiastic couple might inadvertently inflict upon each other.

Illyria wasn't the problem as long as he ensured it remained ignorant of him feeding Spike and Angel – keeping _Fred_ clear of the Scroll of Niamh was the real trick. It was too valuable, and fragile, for him to move to Cordy's place, even assuming the Groosalug didn't use it as a tablemat or some similar innocent goof. He needed it ready to hand, because Wesley didn't intend to ever be caught out again.

He had ignored a holed section where considerable text had been lost, leaving a tear in the scroll, the only few words left being, cryptically, 'ancient sovereign' 'chosen vessel' and 'the rebirth'. Wesley would have bet his soul that the missing section had detailed how an ancient Warrior Demon named Illyria would resurrect itself in the body of the 'Mahju's Queen', and in doing so, kill her. If it weren't for that fact that even Fred's neurons were way smarter than anyone else's on the planet, she would have been truly dead.

Fred lacked the in-depth mystical knowledge Wesley had, but it wasn't that great a leap from Mrs Einstein to Willow-ville. She certainly knew enough to figure out what the Scroll of Niamh was and there was too great a chance that it would tear apart both Team Angel and the Scooby Gang. Most prophecies were reassuringly cryptic and vague, whereas the Niamh read like a Watcher's Diary – and unfortunately with about the same amount of subtlety.

Wesley turned back to where Fred was looking at him from the couch, such a look of love in her eyes that for a moment he could barely breathe. Smiling back, without hesitation he let her take his heart from his chest in one hand, and clasp his soul with the other. He walked back to the couch. The first precaution he would take would be to tear off the portion of the scroll that dealt with the Mahju's eventual suicide.

_Continued in Chapter 11…_

© 2007 C. D. Stewart


	11. Chapter 11

**_Disclaimer_**_: Don't own, etc., etc. Joss Whedon rules supreme and retains pretty much everything. Only written for personal enjoyment and because this plot bunny just wouldn't die, even after some serious staking…_

**_Summary:_**_ Occurs after _**_Brother, Unfortunately Mine_**_. Rating 18 for sexual references. The sibling theme is not entirely played out … _

**HOW TO KILL YOUR (PSYCHO) BOYFRIEND IN ONE HARD LESSON**

**Chapter 11 – The Bad Boy**

With a growl, Staavuz bounced the other demon's head off the brick wall until it was a spongy consistency and then dropped the battered creature before striding off; he wasn't really satisfied – the thing's head would grow back in an hour. He was tired, fed-up and increasingly wondering whether this job was worth it.

'Whack the pouting jailbait' had never been a problem. Staavuz had his Stefan persona down pat by now. Inveigle the adolescent hormonal hottie into being his honey, show her a good time in the sack for a few weeks, then go all psycho-boyfriend and do the _crime passionale_ bit before doing a runner and letting the cops corner him in some fleabag motel. Re-enact the Gunfight at the O.K. Corral, leaving Stefan sprawled on the floor with a chest like a sieve.

The cops went away happy that it was them one, scumbag nil, and Staavuz got some rest while his flesh re-generated because his vital organs were in his head and legs. Some dude pulled him out of the meat-locker freezer eventually and Stefan just hopped off the slab, blew Lethe dust in their faces and exited after faking the paperwork appropriately; the humans came around after about fifteen minutes with no memory he'd ever been there.

It was a sweet deal, every time. Except for now. He'd been looking forward to popping this one's cherry. She had strong thighs and a real cleavage. But she'd proven unusually mature, way brighter than most of the giggling gaggle around her. Instead of melting into his waiting arms, Dawn had dumped _him_. Fortunately that played even better into his psycho-stalker gig, especially as the kid apparently had no family, other than a deadbeat older sister who apparently lived at work, some brain-numbing fast-food joint. Not a problem.

So what had the little slut gone and done? Scampered to LA like a terrified rabbit. Staavuz growled again, wanting to kill something. He couldn't believe he'd been able to follow the little cow all the way into LA, only to lose her within two intersections. It was obvious she had fled here for a reason. Probably someone she thought could help her. He chuckled – some puffing, preening kid with baby fluff on his face, acting the Big Man to impress. Staavuz grinned – he'd kill them both and set it up like the kid did it; it would make a change from him having to stage his usual gory exit.

_Continued in Chapter 12…_

© 2007 C. D. Stewart


	12. Chapter 12

**_Disclaimer_**_: Don't own, etc., etc. Joss Whedon rules supreme and retains pretty much everything. Only written for personal enjoyment and because this plot bunny just wouldn't die, even after some serious staking…_

**_Summary:_**_ Occurs after _**_Brother, Unfortunately Mine_**_. Rating 18 for sexual references. The sibling theme is not entirely played out … _

**HOW TO KILL YOUR (PSYCHO) BOYFRIEND IN ONE HARD LESSON**

**Chapter 12 – Intersections and Connections**

"The Rosita Museum!" Announced Dawn gleefully, bouncing on the circular couch that was the centrepiece of the Hyperion lobby.

"Eh?" Spike looked up from where he was ferreting about for a screwdriver. Cheerfully indifferent to the Hyperion's plethora of poltergeists, Dawn had fallen in love with the whole Jimmy Cagney/Humphrey Bogart/Edward G. Robinson air of it all, wondering aloud if any famous names of yesteryear had stayed there – had Bette Davis, Joan Crawford, Katherine Hepburn or Lauren Bacall ever sashayed down those stairs in full evening wear, dripping with jewellery and furs, cigarette smouldering in one of those elegant holders to prevent smudging of scarlet lips?

She and Spike had spent a pleasant morning exploring as much they could, though some of the rooms clearly needed major renovations. Showing a good grasp of interior renovation, Angel had started work at the roof, making his way gradually down so that all the grime, dust and dirt went downwards.

Dawn glared. "Spike, I'm on a timetable here. I've got to be back to Sunnydale by Friday – everyone will back home and we're going to veg out and watch _Attack of the Fifty Foot Woman_."

"Of course, I can really see the urgency there."

"It's no good just staying cooped up in here waiting for Stefan to _finally_ track me down. He's not bright enough to figure it out until next week." Dawn retorted. "We go out somewhere nice and visible, he tracks me back to the hotel, and when he tries to pounce, we're ready to whack him. I go home and everyone's happy. Besides, I wanna ride in the Viper!"

Though in agreement, Spike was too sensible to say so before checking with _mon Capitan_. Calling Angel's direct line from the reception switchboard phone, he explained Dawn's plan to Angel, who while far from thrilled saw the merit. Spike reassured his grandsire that he would take Gru along as a precaution on the off-chance that Stefan might realise Spike was a vampire, and try to force Dawn out into the sunlight. Spike didn't bother to mention to Angel that he would not hesitate to follow the scumbag and ensure that Stefan was also consumed by the inferno that would kill him.

"Aw, Connor, come on man!" They urged, though they knew it was futile; they had seen that look before.

"I'll catch up later." Connor assured his friends, before turning away and instantly forgetting them as they continued on.

They had been to planning spend the day at the mall, eating burgers, checking out girls and picking up some of the latest CDs. However, Connor had awoken this morning feeling distinctly strange and aroused with a capital 'A'. Wet dreams were just one of the many excruciatingly embarrassing side-effects of being a teenage male, which convinced Connor that the universe was secretly laughing at humanity, but this morning he had been as hard as a rock and in some actual pain. To his relief his problem had gradually deflated, but the prickling awareness had increased – his skin had been unusually sensitive, his clothes full of static electricity. The desire to go to the Rosy had become an overwhelming compulsion far faster than his normal impulses became certain knowledge. As he hurried along the sidewalk, compelled to a speed he did not understand, a word he would ever have though to utilise persisted in floating around his brain: _mate_.

_Continued in Chapter 13…_

© 2007 C. D. Stewart


	13. Chapter 13

**_Disclaimer_**_: Don't own, etc., etc. Joss Whedon rules supreme and retains pretty much everything. Only written for personal enjoyment and because this plot bunny just wouldn't die, even after some serious staking…_

**_Summary:_**_ Occurs after _**_Brother, Unfortunately Mine_**_. Rating 18 for sexual references. The sibling theme is not entirely played out … _

**HOW TO KILL YOUR (PSYCHO) BOYFRIEND IN ONE HARD LESSON**

**Chapter 13 – And Any Other Duties…**

"Come in, Wes." Angel remained staring out the window, his hands in his pockets as he contemplated the situation, having caught his second-in-command's scent and heard his familiar heartbeat as the Englishman approached.

Stepping inside, Wesley came to stand beside him and Angel inhaled Wesley's unique sandalwood-with-lemon, overlaid by Fred's odour (albeit much fainter since Illyria's occupancy of the body), which actually made the man smell better. "What've you got?"

"Stefan is really Staavuz, a member of the Gulff-Osok sub-species. They're as easy to kill as humans, as long as you know that their 'vital organs' are one in each upper thigh – roughly equivalent to a human heart or liver - and one in their heads."

"He's got a rap sheet?" Angel questioned.

"Reams. Usual mid-level-thuggery and murder-for-hire the Gulffosouog set go in for." Wesley responded, keeping silent about the conclusions he had come to regarding Stefan's motives for coming after Dawn since he as yet had nothing other his gut instinct to go on; he added, "And yes, Stefan's had 'relationship issues' before. Doesn't handle rejection well."

"Who does?" Angel muttered. "Spike and Gru have taken Dawn to the Rosita Museum, they've got that big Spanish Links exhibition on today. Hopefully Stefan or some goon of his will spot her and he'll walk into our welcoming crossfire."

"She'll be all right, Angel." Wesley tried to reassure his friend.

"Yeah, I know. Just remembering…stuff." Angel's tone was wistful.

"Your drink's getting cold." Wesley decided to take the bull by the horns.

"Later." Angel glanced dismissively at the _#1 Boss_ mug on his desk, returning his gaze to the file on Staavuz/Stefan that Wesley had brought in.

_So much for subtle;_ taking a step back, Wesley unfastened the top two buttons of his shirt, taking care as the material rubbed against his nipples, still slightly sore from Fred's play of the night before. Inclining his head slightly on the right, he ordered, "Spike drinks on the right side, so you go left."

Angel recoiled a few steps, his tone becoming hard. "I said I'd drink it later, Wesley."

Lifting his head back up straight again, Wesley folded his arms. "How much later? Tomorrow? Next week? The fact that you've gone from drinking three mugs a day to barely one since you found out it's mine is just an amazing coincidence?"

"Yeah, life's full of them." Angel let a bit of the lion's growl seep into his tone.

Wesley ignored it. "_Bullshit_. Make up your mind, Angel. You're in major pouting mode because Spike gets to sink his teeth into my neck, literally, while you have my haemoglobin microwaved in a mug, yet you barely deign to sip my apparently inferior red-cells."

"They're not inferior." snapped Angel angrily, trying to back away from Wesley and throwing the file on his desk as an outlet for his desire to hit the Englishman.

"You're sure acting like it. What's the problem with my blood, Angel?"

"There is no problem, that is the problem!"

"In something approximating actual sense?"

Angel was tired.

Tired of trying to fathom the Machiavellian conundrum of Wolfram & Hart. Tired of worrying that Lindsey MacDonald was bang on the nail both about _The_ Apocalypse already being here and Team Angel being on the wrong side. He was tired of fighting a war in so many directions he had lost count. Tired of always having to make a choice between grey and greyer. Tired of having to make sure his back was covered against the good guys as well as the bad. Tired of losing his friends, like Doyle, then Cordelia and now Fred, to fates worse than death.

He was tired of veering between hope that Buffy would come to LA and hope that she wouldn't, after Andrew Wells revelation that the Scooby Gang no longer trusted him. He was tired of constantly hearing in his head, like a song on permanent loop, the words thrown at him and Wesley by Andrew before the young Watcher had snatched Dana Parvati from their grasp: _" Who do you think my orders came from? Newsflash! Nobody in our camp trusts you anymore…nobody. You work for Wolfram & Hart. Don't fool yourself…we're __**not**__on the same side_._'"_

And Angel was damn tired of Harmony bringing him that damn mug of blood three times every day and being unable to drink it because every time he raised it to his lips, he got a Technicolor image of Spike biting deep into Wesley's neck. He was, in short, royally pissed off, and not in the mood for snotty Englishmen.

Moving forward with the preternatural speed of his kind, he was inwardly pleased when Wesley tensed slightly. "You think I don't want your blood, Wes? Wrong. I want it too much." He leaned in close, locking his dark eyes with Wesley's. The smoky eyes held his own gaze blandly, and Angel allowed his teeth to show slightly as he went on, "Every human being's blood is unique, did you know that? Like their DNA or their fingerprints. Some people are sweet like candy, some are tart sour apple; some are spicy; some are bland. A human being can actually survive massive blood loss with surprising ease, Wes'. In fact that's why blood clinics happily take up to two pints at a time, because humans have the marvellous ability to replace a couple of lost pints of blood within hours, so haven't you ever wondered _why_ a vampire just doesn't pick some schmuck and keep them alive indefinitely as their own personal little grocery store?" Angel was so close that he and Wesley were almost chest-to-chest as he whispered the question in Wesley's ear.

"Enlighten me." Wesley invited in that prissy, clipped English accent of his, exuding that British _sang froid_ that drove you nuts.

"Because we _crave_. If the blood tastes really good, you get so that you don't _want_ anyone else's, so if your pet gets dead, hello, anorexia vampire-osa." Angel snarled. "I've got the taste of you now, Wesley. You're a good vintage. You taste like dark honey taken straight from the hive, like that bitter-dark continental chocolate, like really old cognac." Angel fastened his attention on the pulse jumping in Wesley's neck, recalling how Wesley had fed him from his arm when he had rescued Angel from the ocean floor, how Angel had wanted with all his being to drag Wesley's throat to his mouth and feast on that rich, powerful bounty. "You've got a bit of spice, too, just the right hint of _fire_. I like them feisty, Wes, you should know that." He deliberately smiled in an attempt to intimidate.

"That's why you insisted Spike feed on me here." Wesley countered coolly, "It wasn't because you were afraid he'd lose control, but because you're afraid _you _will."

"Walk away, Wes. Be content with whatever kind of thrill letting Spike feed gives you. I'm out of your league."

"Oh, get over yourself." Wesley's lips curled as he finally stepped back from Angel's deliberate crowding of his personal space, but not because he was duly chastened. "This tortured-hero refrain is really getting old. The only reason I feed the pair of you is because it's my _job_; I'm sidekick-in-chief. It's my responsibility to get the Champion to his Apocalypse on time and being able to _guarantee_ nobody manages to poison you just makes things a bit easier. If Spike can stop himself from draining me, you certainly can, but that's not why you insist on this public chest-beating." Wesley lowered his tone to a _bass profundo_, sounding like an Italian mobster in a bad B-Movie, "_'I daren't feed on people, because I'm __**Angel**__ - I'm so baaaad I might not be able to stop.'"_ Turning on his heel as Angel's jaw dropped, Wesley walked away, tossing over his shoulder derisively, "Save the tortured self-flagellation for Buffy, Angel. It might make _her_ wet between the legs, but it's not my thing -"

Having subconsciously automatically calculated to within a millimetre the distance between himself and his prey, Angel jumped forward, yanking on Wesley's arm and spinning him back around, the Englishman hissing as the action caused the material of his shirt to drag across his nipples, but he had only time to clench his fists before Angel gripped his hair and forced back his head to expose the left side of his throat, the vampire using his other hand to grip Wesley's left forearm and force it down.

Unable to maintain his centre of gravity, Wesley was forced to grab tight hold of the nearest solid form - the back of Angel's jacket - with his right hand to keep from falling over. For a fraction of a second Angel's lowering head paused, but then his nostrils were full of the rival scent of his grandson, and he could _sense_ the magically healed bite marks the other vampire left.

He wasn't gentle as he bit down, holding the Englishman still. The arterial blood carried warmth no microwave could match, a texture and richness that made him growl in delight. Angel did not gorge, but instead carefully lessened the flow to a trickle, sipping the nectar with a leisurely pleasure that both knew was punishment. Wesley remained perfectly still with the ease of practice. The only time Spike had inadvertently hurt him was when he had moved more sharply than he intended and the blond vampire had reacted instinctively to pin his prey. Very carefully Wesley flexed his hand, unclenching his fingers from the material of Angel's jacket and making small rubbing motions on Angel's back like a parent comforting a distressed child.

That dissipated Angel's anger at the man. Tender action towards someone who is within an inch of ripping your throat out takes a great deal of compassion. Releasing his grip, Angel took a step back, panting slightly with the intoxicating after-effects of Wesley's blood, his eyes fixed on the wound as Wesley simply hitched his collar up and buttoned his shirt, Angel battling the desire to feed again. He could, Wesley wasn't strong enough to fight him.

Seeing the tidal wave of guilt rising in Angel's eyes, Wesley said casually, "I'll call in every day, about two o'clock, and you can feed."

Angel reared back as if Wesley had punched him in the jaw. "_No!_ Look, I'm sorry…"

"Angel. Deep. Six. The. Guilt." Wesley enunciated snappishly. "No more sackcloth and ashes, you've already cornered the market in brooding remorse."

"What I did doesn't bother you?" Angel shot back.

"Considering how much I was goading you, I can't claim any high ground, here." Wesley pointed out. "Let's not forget who decided to walk up to the starving grizzly and whack it in the face."

"Thanks…I'm not that broody." Angel protested.

Wesley gave him a who-are-you-kidding? look.

Angel tried again, "Wesley, I'm trying to achieve _redemption_ here. Feeding –"

"Is what you have to do, so the Powers That Be will just have to deal." Wesley instructed his friend - and any listening-in astral plane inhabitants. "People don't hate the lion because it kills the gazelle. It has no choice, it's what it has to do to survive. You and Spike weren't doomed because you need to feed off people. What got you condemned was that you tortured and murdered innocents – that was evil."

"You're trying to say that a vampire who fed on people without hurting them or killing anyone wouldn't be classed as evil by the PTBs?" Angel scoffed.

"I _am _saying it. Such a vampire would be a lion, hunting gazelle. Birds fly, fish swim, vampires need to ingest mammalian blood, preferably human, to survive. End of discussion. Get over it and get on with it." Wesley grimaced. "Speaking of which, we have twenty minutes maximum before Dear Dawn and her two knights in dented armour get here for this afternoon's council of war. Snap out of it and snap to it, Boss."

_Continued in Chapter 14…_

© 2007 C. D. Stewart


	14. Chapter 14

**_Disclaimer_**_: Don't own, etc., etc. Joss Whedon rules supreme and retains pretty much everything. Only written for personal enjoyment and because this plot bunny just wouldn't die, even after some serious staking…_

**_Summary:_**_ Occurs after _**_Brother, Unfortunately Mine_**_. Rating 18 for sexual references. The sibling theme is not entirely played out … _

**HOW TO KILL YOUR (PSYCHO) BOYFRIEND IN ONE HARD LESSON**

**Chapter 14 – Getting Noticed By All The Wrong People**

"Knock if off, Spike." Dawn ordered.

"What?" Spike asked with wide eyes.

"The 'I'm just dumb muscle' attitude. Anyone who can quote the _Iliad_ at six a.m., in Greek and then translate it into good old U.S. is _not_ lacking in the little grey cells department. Look, stop hovering and educate Gru." Dawn pointed to where Gru was examining every exhibit with intense fascination and deep interest. "I'm here to flaunt myself, remember."

"No flaunting," Spike vetoed sternly, "not with Buffy on the same continent, at any rate. You can mingle, but _stay close_."

Dawn nodded obediently; she wasn't stupid, despite recent evidence to the contrary. The Rosita had a lot of visitors today, due to the Spanish Links exhibition. The mill of people went a long way to preventing anyone noticing that Spike cast no reflection in the myriad glass display cases, and also made it nice and public for her to be 'noticed' by the right – or in this case hopefully the wrong – person. Conversely it also made it not as easy for Spike and Gru to be her bodyguards should Stefan display unexpected boldness.

They worked their way around the exhibition, Dawn listening as Spike filled Gru in on some of the more salient historical facts. After Drusilla Sired him in 1880, Angelus, Darla, Spike and Drusilla had eventually left London and actually gone to Spain, gradually working their way East through France, Germany and Poland until 1898, the fateful year they were in Romania, and Angelus became Angel when the Roma cursed him with a soul. Within days of their first ever meeting, Dawn had rapidly discerned that Spike was a lot brighter than he acted anyway, but now beyond that, he knew the interesting snippets of historical sex-and-violence scandals that the textbooks all glossed over in the dry and monotonous recitation of presidents, monarchs, dates and annual wheat yields of Carolina circa 1903.

Spike pointed out a brooch in a display case to Gru; a present from the Prince of Wales, later King Edward VII, to the Infanta of Spain, the King Alfonso XII's daughter, in 1881. However the devout Catholic princess had given the brooch to the Spanish community of Los Angeles the same year, as she in no way wished to have anything remotely associated with Edward VII or his eldest son, Albert Victor, Duke of Clarence & Avondale and possibly Jack the Ripper.

"Was he?" Dawn asked, fascinated.

"Not sure, never met the real Saucy Jack, not as I know to anyway." Spike admitted, "I thought it was Angelus m'self, until one of the Ripper's killings happened while me and Angelus were together up in Yorkshire – turns out _he_ thought it was _me_. But young Albert Victor gave his grandmother conniptions. I felt for Queen Vic in a way, actually. The girl spent her whole life trying to survive, sometimes literally, the machinations of her libertine uncles - who stood to get the throne if little Vicky took a fatal header down a flight of Windsor Castle steps," Spike explained, "then her eldest son and _his_ eldest son both turn out to be chips from the same debauched block. Faced with having two successive kings who had the morals of alley cats, it's no surprise she bit the bullet and had him done in."

Gru frowned. "Are you saying this Queen…Vic…assassinated the son of her son?"

Dawn saw a flicker of something reflected in a display case and tried to get a clear look while simultaneously listening to Spike's tale – far more interesting than the prissy little white cards in front of the display cases.

"She didn't take a trip into his bedroom with a broadsword, no. More like nudged the process along. See, her heir, Edward, well he was into the drinking and bedding of servants deal, but at least his bed mates were strictly _female_. Edward's heir on the other hand swung _both_ ways," Spike told Gru. "He mated with males as well as females and as well as not being very particular, he wasn't very _discreet_. Official version is he died of pneumonia; unofficially he actually had syphilis and a few other STDs."

"Ess-Tee-Deez?" Gru repeated the unfamiliar acronym.

"Erm, what human physicians call sexually transmitted diseases – and don't pretend Pylea had none of those. Anyway, in reality, his grandmother uttered the Eleventh Commandment: _Thou shalt not kill, but thou shalt not strive officiously to keep alive._ After Bertie V the heir was his younger brother, Prince George, who was as sober, responsible and moral as he was debauched and corrupt. So the doctors sort of eased him off the mortal coil by being a bit too enthusiastic with the laudanum, under the protection of the Queen and with the compliance of his dad, the Prince of Wales."

"Wow, it's almost as if he was _there._"

Dawn took great pride in the fact that not only did she _not _end up having to be peeled like a banana off the ceiling at the voice unexpectedly sounding in her ear, but neither did she scream, do the high jump, or wet herself. Sucking in a deep breath and trying to calm the hammering heart that was trying to jackhammer it's way through her sternum, she instead turned to the speaker, her heart picking up the pace again when it laid eyes on…_helllloooo_.

He was tall and slim, wearing faded jeans and a green T-shirt under a denim jacket. He had gentle eyes, a smiling mouth and dusky blond hair that fell in bangs nearly over his eyes. He smiled at her tentatively.

"Spike's travelled a lot." Dawn commented weakly.

A dint appeared between his eyes as he looked from her to the peroxide blond. "You two are…here together?"

"He's my step-brother." Dawn lied without missing a beat. "We always got a long better with each other than our parents did with each other, or with us. I'm visiting LA, I live in Sunnydale, my name's Dawn Summers," _and I'm about to start babbling, oh shoot me now._

However he spoke, "I'm Connor Riley. I live in LA. So your brother's into this kind of stuff, huh?"

"No, this is my gig-" Dawn blinked as Connor seemed to light up inside.

"Really. Have you seen the mummies?"

"They have them here?" Dawn asked warily, remembering the story of the life-force sucking Incan Princess mummy who had gone within an inch of turning Xander into a raisin.

"Oh yeah, they're great, really well preserved..." As they chatted, drawing away from the crowd slightly, Connor found he didn't want to look away from her eyes. Something about this girl _resonated_ with something deep inside him.

"You alright, love?"

Connor blinked, startled, as the voice suddenly cut through their conversation; nobody had been able to sneak up on him in years – his family joked he had ears like an elephant. It was as if Dawn's blond step-brother had just materialised next to him. Just as in the UCLA library, the hairs on Connor's body stood up in warning. The blond man had a smile, but his blue eyes were cold, and as Connor looked into them, he knew without doubt that something not entirely human was looking back. Just like with 'Sky', he was in the presence of something very old, and very dangerous.

Dawn smiled at 'Spike' and introduced Connor. Spike remained amicable but Connor knew those eyes were trying to see right through his skull, and then the blond man reminded Dawn that they had to go and meet 'Angel and the gang'.

"Yes, and then there's Stefan at two o'clock." Dawn nodded, smiling apologetically at Connor.

Who, acutely attuned to the situation in a manner far more deeply than anything he'd experienced before, instantly recognised that what Dawn was saying was of far more importance than the words coming out of her mouth. Spike's eyes turned even more frightening and just for a second, his eyes flicked towards his right, looking in the direction…of where two o'clock would be on a figurative clock face.

Connor watched as Dawn and Spike made their way towards the exit, being joined by a tall, well-muscled man with a broad grin. A grin that faded as Connor's sharp ears heard Spike tell the man, 'Gru', that 'Stefan' was at two o'clock. Glancing surreptitiously in the direction indicated, only moving so he stood in the spot where Dawn had been as she said it, Connor spotted a tall, muscular guy with a bad tan furtively lurking in the background, his attention focussed on Dawn as she left with Spike and 'Gru'. Bad tan also made his way to the exit and headed for a nondescript brown car that he got in and started up. Acting on impulse, Connor jumped into a cab just as a way-cool Viper came up out of the underground garage and turned right, followed a moment later by Bad Tan. "Follow that car."

The driver turned his head and regarded him with a flat, unfriendly stare. Pulling a twenty-dollar bill from his pocket, Connor thrust it at him. "_Now._ Keep back."

_Continued in Chapter 15…_

© 2007 C. D. Stewart


	15. Chapter 15

**_Disclaimer_**_: Don't own, etc., etc. Joss Whedon rules supreme and retains pretty much everything. Only written for personal enjoyment and because this plot bunny just wouldn't die, even after some serious staking…_

**_Summary:_**_ Occurs after _**_Brother, Unfortunately Mine_**_. Rating 18 for sexual references. The sibling theme is not entirely played out … _

**HOW TO KILL YOUR (PSYCHO) BOYFRIEND IN ONE HARD LESSON**

**Chapter 15 – Revelations One, Two and You What?!**

"_WHAT!!" _

Later on in retrospect, Buffy admitted to herself that suddenly letting out a banshee-like shriek while in close proximity to her Scooby Gang and a bunch of Slayers was probably not the most sensible of things to have done. These were people who lived their lives on the edge and as such tended to be constantly twitchy – and _armed_. Making unexpected, very loud and violent noises right next to them was liable to provoke rather unfortunate auto-reflexes. Fortunately, Buffy was _also_ a Slayer, so she was able to avoid the accidentally loosed crossbow bolt and the thrown knife.

The unexpected return of Willow and Kennedy, Giles and Andrew and finally Xander on the same day was a cause for welcome and cheer, especially as they hadn't been expected back for another couple of days _and_ all were able to report at least some success in their endeavours. Buffy had phoned Dawn's roommate-to-be, the Slayer Ebony Saville, at UC Sunnydale, to pass on the good news and get Dawn and the Slayers back to the mansion for an earlier than planned 'back home bash'. That conversation had been when Buffy discovered that Dawn had completed her admissions paperwork a week ago and had taken a 'quip trip' to LA as she had some problem she wanted 'a friend' to help her with. Cue the unwise furious screaming.

"What could possibly be wrong that Dawn would need Angel's help, instead of ours?" Willow asked Buffy, tactfully substituting 'ours' for 'yours' as they all gathered round the fuming pre-eminent Slayer.

Xander, unaware of how his black piratical eye-patch gave him a rakishly handsome appeal, narrowed his remaining eye, and spoke without even bothering to look around. "_Andrew,_ I can feel the guilt washing over me from here. _Spill_."

Giles looked at his protégé, his features taking on a hint of 'Ripper'. The youth gulped as he found himself the cynosure of all eyes, a lot of them very unfriendly. "I…er…don't think she's gone to get Angel's help."

"You don't?" Buffy frowned; what on earth _else_ would her sister be doing in LA, a place she had never evinced any interest in before.

"_Seliv._" Andrew mumbled.

"Andrew," Xander growled, "don't make me hang you by your ankles from the stair-rail again…"

"Spike's alive."

Buffy paled, but then shook her head. "Spike…died. I saw the…fire…coming before he made me get clear."

Faith slung an arm round Andrew's shoulders and smiled at him in a way that made his stomach roil in fear. "Fill in the spaces with words, babe, _fast_."

Andrew sucked in a deep breath: "Wolfram & Hart legally owned the amulet that they gave to Angel that he brought you in Sunnydale because they thought _he_ would the one to use it turns out that the amulet somehow stores the life-force of whoever wears it so when Spike's physical body was incinerated he himself was in the amulet when it was returned to Wolfram & Hart offices Angel opened the amulet and Spike re-materialised in non-corporeal form –"

"_Whoa. _Breathe." Xander raised his hands as Andrew gabbled a single sentence without pause. "Spike's a _ghost_?"

"Not anymore." Andrew gratefully drew in oxygen, and went on in a more measured way, "He was a ghost, and couldn't leave the city. Then somehow he got made corporeal again and could leave LA if he wanted."

"So why didn't he come back with you and Dana?" Willow asked before she thought, casting a quick glance at the still-timid girl who looked like a frightened rabbit at the mention of the blond vampire's name.

"I…think he was going to." Andrew told Buffy, whose face, though shuttered, couldn't quite hide the hurt. "Sometimes I call…Wes…Wesley. You know, for advice on Watcher stuff. Wes wouldn't really talk about it but that girl, Fred, one of Angel's Team…apparently she tried really hard to make Spike solid again, and anyway, later on something bad happened to her – she was injured, real bad, and Spike and Angel couldn't help her…she must have made it 'cause she's still alive though, I'm not really clear on that part…Anyway," Andrew consciously tried to stop his babble, "Spike promised Angel that he would spend the rest of his life fighting at Angel's side for the Powers That Be, because he failed to stop Fred being terribly injured."

"Dawn's gone to Spike." Giles clarified.

"What could Dawn be so afraid of that she wants Spike's protection?" Xander mused to himself.

There was a pregnant pause as the Scooby Gang looked at each other and all went a whiter shade of pale.

"Gear up." Buffy ordered.

_Concluded in Chapter 16…_


	16. Chapter 16

**_Disclaimer_**_: Don't own, etc., etc. Joss Whedon rules supreme and retains pretty much everything. Only written for personal enjoyment and because this plot bunny just wouldn't die, even after some serious staking…_

**_Summary:_**_ Occurs after _**_Brother, Unfortunately Mine_**_. Rating 18 for sexual references. The sibling theme is not entirely played out … _

**HOW TO KILL YOUR (PSYCHO) BOYFRIEND IN ONE HARD LESSON**

**Chapter 16 – LA For Beginners Tip # 16: Stalking Stalkers**

Connor watched the old hotel from the shrubbery across the road, feeling slightly ridiculous. That way cool Viper had gone to the impressive offices of Wolfram & Hart, driving not into the general parking lot but straight down into the CEO's personal underground parking garage. The Plymouth had pulled up along the block and simply sat there with it's engine idling, indicating that Bad Tan believed the Viper would shortly re-emerge. Connor had sat in the back of the cab, torn as to what to do, something about the Viper's tinted windows and the fact that Wolfram & Hart's windows were all tinted the same way nagging at him for a reason he couldn't really put into words.

The phlegmatic cab driver let him run up another twenty bucks as they just sat there before pointedly suggesting that maybe he should make a decision whether to get out and go. However, just as Connor checked out how much money he had left and reluctantly decided to exit the cab and hope he could hail another one in time should the Viper come back out, the luxury sports car had done just that, emerging from the parking garage and hanging a right. Without prompting, the cab driver tailed the Plymouth as it tailed the Viper until they reached this huge old hotel, where once again, the Viper had gone straight down into the hotel's underground parking garage.

This time, the Plymouth's driver turned off the engine, so Connor got out of the cab and let it leave. He had spent nearly fifty bucks and was feeling rather idiotic; the fact that he was essentially stalking the stalker of a girl he had met for five minutes all of an hour ago was an irony not lost on him…even for imperturbable LA, it was eyebrow-raising behaviour.

But he could not break the compulsion that kept him here, lurking. Connor looked at the building, recognising it vaguely but not sure why. Taking up most of the block, the hotel was five-storeys high. It consisted of two long wings that faced out towards the sidewalk, separated by a narrow section in the middle that was set back between the two wings – a brick paved path that separated to curve around a fountain before merging again led up to a short flight of stone steps and a set of glass double doors that must lead into the lobby. Rather than being built right on the sidewalk, the hotel was set back slightly. A wall twice the height of a man shielded it from the view of pedestrians, with two wrought metal gates underneath a stone arch barring the way up the brick entry path.

Connor frowned. What little he could see of the hotel's front gardens seemed to be an overgrown tangle; the fountain certainly hadn't been cleaned in a decade, though it was working. Even from here he could see some of the bricks were cracked and had grass growing up through them. Each of the double doors that led into the lobby consisted of a narrow border of wood around an almost full-length vertical rectangle of glass, which had been divided into eight separate panes, two each side by side from top to bottom, but the outside was blotchy with age and in serious needed of rubbing down and re-varnishing, likewise the panes were smeared with grime. The name sign, 'Hyperion' was faded and looked so old it might have been there since the Fifties.

Connor looked up at the hotel, his stomach twisting uneasily, though he couldn't for the life of him have explained what about the place set his teeth on edge. It was now late afternoon, but the only light seemed to coming from the entrance lobby on the first floor; Connor was never going to win any Nobel Prizes for his math, but he knew that for _every_ window to be dark was stretching the 'coincidence' factor a bit, and why was Bad Tan, having sneaked up that brick-path, now sort of loitering in the trees, occasionally bobbing up to peer through the glass doors like some second-rate Peeping Tom?

Blessing his exceptional eyesight, Connor caught a glimpse of the second man, 'Gru'; there was also another man, his face half turned away, dressed into a vivid yellow suit who had to be standing under some sort of fluorescent lighting, since his skin appeared green under it. Then Dawn and her step-brother came into view at the double glass doors, seeming to 'rise up' as they obviously walked up a short flight of inside steps. Spike pushed open one of the glass doors wide, the light from the lobby lights making his distinctive bleached blond hair possess a sort of halo effect, moving out onto the porch slightly as he turned his head back over his shoulder, saying something to Dawn that made her nod earnestly, her face serious.

Abruptly, Bad Tan sprang up onto the porch, and before Connor could move or shout a warning he already knew would be futile from this distance, Bad Tan lunged at Spike. Even as he was dashing across the street, Connor felt his jaw drop – instead of a gun or even a knife, Bad Tan drove a sharpened piece of wood directly into the blond man's chest –

Or tried to.

Connor skidded to a halt. _What the hell?_ Thrown with all his strength behind it, Bad Tan's blow never landed. In front of Spike the air seemed to shimmer a sort of crystalline gold-bronze for a second, and Bad Tan was tossed backwards like a rag doll as he rebounded off some sort of invisible barrier. Connor looked desperately at the porch, but there was nothing; it was like one of those force-shield things on _Star Trek_.

Dawn folded her arms across her chest and looked at Bad Tan with a contemptuous expression, while Spike, completely unfazed by the fact that he should have been brutally impaled, looked at him with clear amusement. His face working furiously, Bad Tan snatched up the wooden stake he had dropped and hurled it viciously straight at Spike's chest again. The blond man didn't even blink as the wood hit the same invisible barrier as before a few inches from him, this time the force shattering the wood into kindling. Connor felt the flesh on his arms creep as, for a second, there seemed to be something distorted about 'Spike's' face, but when he blinked and looked again, the bleach-blonde's face was as it had ever been as he said something to Bad Tan who scrambled backwards, hauling himself to his feet and taking off at dead run, his face a mask of fury.

Connor remained, shielded by a parked car, as Dawn and Spike went back into the hotel, where 'Gru' and the still-green man, though he couldn't _still_ be standing under a fluorescent light, crowded round.

"Okay, what just happened here?" Connor asked the universe at large.

_End of Part 1. How to Kill Your Boyfriend In One Hard Lesson continues in Part 2: Chapter 1 – coming soon. _

© 2008 C. D. Stewart


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